


Annie Christmas versus the Cursed Cannibal Confederates from the Carolinas

by badAquatic



Series: Elvish Americana: An Eclectic Study of Fae in North America [4]
Category: American Folklore, Elvish Americana, Faerie Folklore, Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, African-American Folklore, American Folklore - Freeform, American History, Brer Bear, Brer Fox - Freeform, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Cryptozoology, Daddy Jack, Discussion of Past Noncon/Rape, F/F, Fae & Fairies, Folklore, Illustrated, Mentions of Historic Slavery, Mentions of Slavery, Prostitution, Road Trips, Seelie Court, Urban Fantasy, Urban Legends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-04-07 03:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14072013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badAquatic/pseuds/badAquatic
Summary: Tops is out of commission from his latest escapade but the effects of his actions echo through the American fairyland folkloric landscape. One of those echoes hits the haunted waters where a ghost ship roams: The Grand Courser and its owner, the infamous pirate Annie Christmas.





	1. The Grand Courser Casino

 

The Puritan colonists said the lands of the New World were pure—purged of the heathen superstitions that contaminated their homeland. No matter how many crosses were brandished, no matter how many witches were burned, the righteous could never temper the fervor of the remaining pagans. Not while they hosted their black Sabbaths at every river, every hill, and every tree. In the New World, there were no such placed dedicated to devilry.

The sailors knew better. While the Puritan passengers clasped their crosses, the men of the sea kept handfuls of earth in their pockets and horseshoes in their boots. Even the rivermen who ferried on the Mississippi, the Connecticut, and the Merrimack had glimpsed the sea serpents lurking in the rocks and heard the howls of maddened marsh people and hungry rougarou. They attended church and listened to the fire and brimstone as the landlubbers demanded, but every sailor knew an ancient prayer from the Old World and every fishwife kept a saucer of milk on her porch not just for the cats. They were blind, but not willfully ignorant.

This story is not about sailors but concerns one of their fears: a ghost ship and its spectral fleet.

Massachusetts Bay has always been cluttered with ghost ships. Even in the age of lifeboats and nuclear propulsion, the crowd of galleons and clippers are interrupted with sunken yachts and shattered submarines that trail ectoplasmic debris in the water. For humans, destruction of a ship is the end and their eyes will see nothing but outcroppings of wet rocks and shapes in the thick fog. For fae, destruction is the transition from one life into the next. Those unlucky souls with enough regret and anger hold onto their lives and ride the unearthly winds.

Other ships do not shuttle the dead but merely exist in the midst of the fae’s realm of magic—glimpsed by human eyes and gone in the next second. This middle realm is where the _Grand Courser_ and its fleet exist. The fleet is a conglomerate of ships from different eras and aesthetics, but the sight does not detract from the allure of the _Grand Courser._ It is a clipper ship of massive size and proportion, with painted sails displaying whimsical scenery: piles of golden coins, tempting food, and seductive women. The mainmast flies its captain’s flag: a skull with two turkey feathers underneath instead of crossbones. The foremast sail shines a neon sign bright enough to pierce through the fog: _The Grand Courser Casino._

On a typical night, the wind would carry the music and lure in potential customers, but this night is not like the others. The sky is dark and rumbling, threatening thunder as rain harshly beats against every surface. Passengers have withdrawn from the decorative deck to the gambling tables, buffet, and brothel within the clipper ship. The few souls bracing the weather are sailors with rough hands for hauling ropes and supplies up and down the stairs. They watch the height of the waves and redirect wayward passengers from the hazardous deck.

Like the passengers, the captain has retired to her cozy room. The air is perfumed with vanilla oil, citrus, and sweat. The curtain has been pulled away from the enormous bed and the blankets tossed to the floor, showing the tangle of limbs on the mattress. The large bed is bolted to the floor and the posts chained to the wall so even the most turbulent storm can’t interrupt the bedchamber games.

Captain Annie Christmas’s thoughts are not on the passengers, the money she’s raking in, or the brewing storm but pussy. Her mouth is planted in the best example of it, lapping at the dew outside of—Golly’s? Kaylee’s?—fine line of ladyhood. Claws and fingers rake down her back, growing the burgeoning flame inside of Annie. Between her legs, a mouth bumps against the lips of her quim. A tongue curiously reaches out, making rhythmic circles near her clit.

_Bang._

Just as Annie is riding the height of arousal, the door slams open. The light and noise of the hallway floods into the dark room. The stale beer and reheated food scent wafts from the buffet. Annie curses and rolls away from the bodies wrapped around her.

“Fuck’s sake!” Annie growls, “Can’t a lady get laid in peace?”

The intruder half closes the door but remains inside. In the limited light, Annie makes out the intruder to be a young man in his late twenties. His hair is shaven on the sides with the top’s black curls brushed back, making his forehead appear large. His face would be perfect if it wasn’t for the large scar on the right corner of his lip.

“You can’t brush me off that quickly, Mother.” the intruder growls.

The word _Mother_ falls from his lips and turns to ice water, dousing the flame inside Annie. Annie grumbles and slides off the bed, grabbing a blanket from the floor. She covers up and turns her attention to the other three bodies on the bed.

“Sam. Get light.” Annie orders.

One of the participants—a young man who is all red hair and muscles with bright gold eyes, rosy lipstick, and mascara—leaves the bed and approaches the oak chifforobe. He lights the vanilla candles that went out an hour ago and grins at Annie.

“Missy Annie, I got light,” Sam says.

“Meant the light _switch_ Sammy.” Annie sighs but can’t complain. At least Sam understood the concept enough. With the added illumination Annie locates her silk robe and throws it on, further smudging the lipstick smears on her thighs and breasts. “Any particular reason ya dragging an old lady from her fun?”

“You’re late for the meeting.” June stares into the middle distance, unfocused on his mother and her bed companions.

“How late?” Annie asks.

“Five.”

Annie rolls her eyes. “Five minutes isn’t _that_ \--”

“Five _days_.”

“Shit, seriously?” Annie knows she loses track of time but it’s not typically that bad. June’s mouth is in a hard line, implying he would rather speak in the captain’s cabin. Annie turns to her companions. “Kaylee, get shirt. No, not socks. _Shirt_. What’s Cantonese for ‘shirt’ June?”

“I wouldn’t know. _I’m_ not the one who went to Hong Kong,” June grumbles, “and you’re dressed enough as is.” 

“It’s cold out there!” Annie protests. One of the companions—Golly—walks over with a scarf. Annie wraps it around her throat and kisses the girl for _trying_ to understand the command. “ _Xiexie_ , Golly.”

Golly giggles, showing off her sharp teeth before returning to the bed.

“Missy Annie, do I still fuck ass?” Sam asks.

“No, hun. No fuck ass.” Annie pauses. “At least not right now.”

“ _Mother_ ,” June growls.

Annie points to her son. “Maybe fuck his ass? It might relax him for a change.”

“Okay!” Sam cheers. 

“ _No_!” June waves away the eager fae and opens the door. “We’re leaving. _Now._ The less I have to smell this room, the better.”

“No need to be a spoilsport, June,” Annie grumbles but follows her son out the door.

June marches down the hallway toward the captain’s cabin with the single-mindedness of a bird heading off to the south for winter. Mother and son are certainly a jarring sight as they continue on their way: June in his designer suit and Annie in her stained silk robe and old scarf. She would laugh if the mood wasn’t so serious. Still, she’s not worried—she _is_ the captain after all.

 

* * *

 

 

“You are _not_ the captain,” June announces.

Annie flops into the armchair behind her desk. Being nearly seven feet tall and muscular made fighting a breeze but mundane tasks like furniture shopping a chore. Lucky for Annie, she has the funds to get specifically made furniture so she can sit in a chair without the fear of getting wedged in or breaking it from her weight alone.

“Odd. Pretty sure the boats are all in _my_ name.” Annie searches through the desk’s drawers for the key to her liquor cabinet.

“The property may be yours but not the businesses within them.” June paces, moving over the small trench he’s worn in the carpet over the years. “Mother, what happened to the route I planned? We were to be in Canadian waters by now, leading into a tour of the Arctic and its majesty before they’re ruined by that damned hole the humans put in the ozone layer. Instead, we’re sailing steadily closer to New York! What are we still doing in New England, mother?”

“New York isn’t New England. I thought I raised ya on maps, boy?” The key isn’t in the drawers, which perplexes Annie. Could it have fallen on the floor? She gets on her knees, scouring the floor.

“I don’t care! The point is that we’re off course due to your meddling and—Mother, are you _listening?_ ”

 “Ya have my undivided attention, Junebug,” Annie says from under the desk.

“Don’t _call_ me that.” Another sigh. “Mother, _look_ at me.”

Annie surfaces and sees her third oldest son holding a small silver key in his manicured fingers. The woman quickly rises only to knock her knee on the desk’s edge. She curses, sitting back in the chair.

“Ya should know better than to keep an old pirate from her booze, boy,” Annie growls.

June places the key in his pocket. “And _I_ know better to speak to a souse when they have their sauce. I need you sober for what I’m about to say.” The young man inhales slowly and exhales before stating, “Mother…I _care_ about you.”

Annie crosses her legs and pretends to play the part of the perfect mother. “I care about me too.”

“I’m being _serious._ Ever since”—Annie’s warm smile falters before the young man coughs—“well, _you know_ , you’ve been lingering here. We could be dining with qualupalik aristocrats but instead, we’re stuck on the East Coast! Even our regulars are sick of the scenery. Profits are starting to decrease. If we keep this up, we’ll turn _the Grand Courser_ into a ghost ship.”

Annie cocks her head. “It _is_ a ghost ship.” 

 “The _literal_ kind of ghost ship!” June wags his finger at her, “The kind of ghost ship with no customers, which means no money for your whores.”

“ _Hey_!” Annie slams her fist on the table. “Don’t call my girls ‘whores’! They’re incredibly skilled an’ lovely concubines that were a gift from a dear friend.”

“Yes, your ‘dear friend’ Madame Ching, who indulged you during your Hong Kong hijinks.” June snorts, “Mother, do you know why it is such a problem for us to linger on the East Coast for this long?”

Annie considers it but her mind can’t focus on the issue June alludes to. She’s never been one for the ins and outs of business that June loves to yammer about. She wonders what her girls are up to now that the fun is on hold. Every moment Annie is away from that world of thighs, breasts, and cock, everything is a little duller. Could they be fucking each other while she’s gone? Or playing mahjong? Maybe they’re doing both? Shit, Annie wishes she could be watching that. Or even taking part in a round of strip mahjong (even though she’s not clear on the rules of _regular_ mahjong).

“Mother.” June presses.

Annie’s thoughts snap back to her son, whose glare has not eased. “Um…”

“ _Taxes_ , Mother. Or ‘tribute’ as the Courts say.” June massages away a budding migraine on his temples. “Moving about kept us from their attention but as we have lingered here for more than a month, we have Seelie collectors knocking at our door and wondering why we haven’t paid them even a madstone penny despite being in their territory for so long.”

Annie scowls at the word _Seelie_. “I shouldn’t have to pay dick. I did my time for that gold bitch.”

“You think soldiers don’t have to pay taxes?” Annie wavers and June sighs, “Skip it. I’ve already spoken with the Seelie collectors and with some string pulling--”

Annie’s heart sinks. “Oh no.”

June nods. “Oh yes.”

“No, Junebug. _Noooo_.”Annie groans, “Don’t tell me ya invited those stuck up bastards on my ship!”

“The tales of your exploits have gained in popularity among the Seelie. Several young nobles are curious about you.” June continues, speaking over Annie’s whining, “They would love a tour of the _Grand_ _Courser_ and all its entertainments, along with the ability to speak with the real Annie Christmas. With their blessing, we may be able to convince the collectors to waive the debts for a year. You should be _thankful_ this is the only thing we have to do.” 

“But I _haaaaate_ them!” Annie groans, “Can’t we just send our best whores to the Seelie and call it even? I’ll even go down on Sheba’s gold bush rather than deal with a bunch of spoiled, old money brats for an _entire night_!”

June grimaces at the imagery but counters with, “Do that and you’ll have to be in the same room as Sheba. Gods forbid if she decides to _keep_ you.”

Annie does consider that grim, alternate universe where she partakes in one of King Sheba’s hedonistic birthday parties. Having to be in the same gaudy, perfumed to all hell room as Sheba wouldn’t be terrible but having to _remain_ there would be nightmarish. Sheba’s harem is infamously crowded, taking up two wings of her ancestral estate’s manor (or so the rumors went). Annie regards herself to be an open-minded gal, but she couldn’t tolerate dormitory-style living with yesterday’s ‘models’ _and_ hearing Seelie politics every single day.

“I s’pose ya right: it ain’t _that_ bad,” Annie grumbles, “but I’m still opposed. Those nobles don’t care about the real me. They just want a Coney Island show.”

June nods. “True, but a show is still to our advantage. Highbred nobles have deeper pockets than our regular tourists. We can increase our prices, bring out our better whores, and gate off the boat from the riffraff for the evening.” The young man grins and his eyes light up as visions of the entire affair fill his head. “This could be a stepping stone to acquiring a higher rank of customer. Think of it, Mother! We could be…a _cruise_ _line_.”

June’s coal dark eyes shimmer, dreaming of when the _Grand Courser_ is not a repurposed vessel but a franchise of ships. It’s the look he gets while he’s crunching numbers behind a desk and sitting in long meetings concerning advertising and showrunners. When he dreams, June looks just like his father.

Thinking on her children and their fathers makes Annie’s heartache. It’s an ache Annie had thought she drowned months ago in Kowloon Bay.

“You know,” Annie says, “letting you read _The Great Gatsby_ was a mistake.”

The statement evaporates June’s enthusiasm, returning him to his annoyance. “Just make an appearance and show these nobles that not all human-descended fae are backwater idiots and criminals. Who knows? Maybe you’ll…hook up. I’m sure you haven’t…banged…a Seelie…chick…as of yet.” He shudders to say the last part.

“Your heart’s in the right place but that drum’s _been_ slammed, dear.” Annie snickers, “I’ll show up for my little Junebug though.”

“That’s the least I could ask for. And ease up on the drinking.” Annie starts but he adds, “At least until this is over. You know how you get when you’ve had too much. Please, Mother?”

“Fine, fine.” Annie stands and walks over to her son. “Now give your dear old Mom a hug!”

Annie embraces her son in a bear hug before he leaves the room.

 

* * *

 

 June walks three feet from the captain’s cabin before he feels something is…off. He checks his pocket and finds the liquor cabinet key is missing. He should have known better. Its impossible to put a barrier between Annie Christmas and her two loves: the water and alcohol.

“Son of a bitch.” June sighs but continues his trip to the brothel.


	2. Snake in the Water

Annie returns to her girls who (as she predicted) have learned to amuse themselves with mahjong. Honestly, Golly, Kaylee, and Sam are the most well-behaved concubines Annie has had. In the past, Annie couldn’t keep more than two and she always had to make sure their rooms were far apart. There was always an element of fighting, gossiping, bickering, and emotional tension that caused Annie to prefer leaving lovers in different ports rather than bringing them along.

Such problems never occur with the trio. Annie doubts that Madam Ching would tolerate such misbehavior getting in the way of her money. The Chinese pirate lord kept a short leash on everyone under her command, where even questioning a single order could result in a beheading. It was why when Madam Ching offered Annie a “going away present” she picked the least dangerous prostitutes in the brothel and went on her way. Oh, there had been tempting offerings in the bordello-- tiger-men, oni, dragon-turtles, golden crows, jade rabbits, and rakshasa—but Annie wouldn’t be able to maintain their strict diets of human flesh and century eggs.

Thankfully, Annie’s girls have been weaned with pork. She stops off at the kitchen to pick up a bucket of scraps before returning to the bedroom. At the smell of bones and blood, Golly and Kaylee dive toward the scrap bucket.

“Easy! _Easy!_ There’s enough for everyone!” Annie laughs. She has to pry Golly off of the bucket. With her fox instincts kicking in, Golly’s likely to scratch and bite if she doesn’t get her share. Annie lets Golly and Kaylee fight over the scraps and hands a large cow bone to Sam.

Once the trio is occupied with their meal, Annie says, “Okay, we’re having guests in a week.”

“Missy Annie to have guests?” Golly smiles with blood smeared around her mouth, “Is Golly makee jig-jig for chin?”

“No, Golly, we’ve been over this.” Annie sighs, “ _None_ of ya need to make jig-jig for chin anymore. I’m not like”—she pauses and rethinks her statement—“I’m _different_ from Madame Ching.”

“So what we do for Missy Annie?” Kaylee asks. With every word, she has to blow hair out of her mouth. Annie would have gotten her a hair tie if Kaylee’s true face wasn’t so ghoulish.

Annie sits next to Kaylee, stroking her long soft hair. Kaylee curls next to her, smelling of blood.

“You just stay ya own sweet self,” Annie says.

Its two hours before daybreak so Annie has Sammy blow out the candle, returning the bedroom to darkness. The combined warmth of her concubines lulls Annie to sleep, reminding her when there was a single person in her bed. A single body and a single arm—broad, callused, and smelling of stringent sea salt.

“I love you more than I fear the Devil’s locker.” that body would whisper.

Annie would pretend to be slumbering too deeply to hear him, but she would still smile. In the darkness of their cabin, he would never see. 

“Missy Annie, please wake!” Kaylee cries.

Annie surfaces from the dream, tangled in sheets and ringing a pillow like a slave catcher’s neck. The blue-gray of dawn has filled the room, making it look like an old watercolor. Kaylee sits on the edge of the bed while Golly is on the floor with her hackles raised and foxlike features poking out in alarm. Sammy is softly growling while hiding as much behind the chifforobe as possible. The boy is (supposedly) a fearless shishi but he’s always been the most skittish. Kaylee is the least startled but being a nu gui, few things frighten her.

Annie’s head throbs in a manner far apart from a hangover. She releases the pillow and takes a deep breath. “It’s fine.” she pantss, “ _I’m_ fine.”

“Missy Annie very bad look…” Kaylee mutters.

“Missy Annie wantee _zau_?” Golly offers Annie a bottle of room temperature scotch from the chifforobe.

Annie shakes her head. “No, Missy Annie no wantee.”

Golly looks disappointed but shrugs and drinks the scotch straight from the bottle.

Annie dresses, ignoring the girls’ pleas to dress their mistress and leaves the cabin. The halls of the _Grand Courser_ are always quiet in the morning. The gamblers have gone home and the whores are resting with the few overnighters. The people who walk the halls are employees coming off a shift or heading toward one. They’re too wrapped up in their own day-to-day existence to notice Annie. As such, Annie walks to the deck’s stern without so much a nod in her direction.

Even though the sun is steadily rising, the sky is grey and drizzling. Annie exhales and watches her breath unfurl in front of her. She’s been at sea so long that she can’t remember the season. The water is turbulent and cold, splashing the sides of the ship with cold spray. On the horizon Annie sees the first hints of seaside civilization since Hong Kong: rocky beachside mountains, small expensive cottages, and a swell of green trees hiding them.

The wind blows harsh and carries voices from the bow. Annie follows it, walking the slippery wood and watching the sailors work. The men, women, and everyone else are focused on maintaining what amounts to the bones and skin of the _Grand Courser._ Carpenters argue with coopers on storage and how much material to set aside for ship maintenance. Boatswains hang off the sides, hoisted by ropes as they check the gun ports, anchors, and lifeboats.

Over the low murmur of work, a fine and hearty voice sings above:

 

_Oh, a drop of Nelson's blood wouldn't do us any harm_

_Oh, a drop of Nelson's blood wouldn't do us any harm_

_Oh, a drop of Nelson's blood wouldn't do us any harm_

_And we'll all hang on behind!_

Even if Annie was blind, deaf, and dumb she would know that voice. She looks at the main topgallant sail and sees October perched there with a leg swung over the rim and sewing a tear in the sail.

 

_So we'll roll the old chariot along_

_An' we'll roll the golden chariot along._

_So we'll roll the old chariot along_

_An' we'll all hang on behind!_

“You’re going to crack ya head, girl!” Annie laughs.

October looks in direction of Annie’s voice and grins. She swings down the main top via the netting and lands in front of Annie with a loud _thump!_ Annie has lived on ships for almost a century and she has no idea how October learned to move so skillfully.

“Hey, old lady!” October laughs, “I thought ye still busy wit ye hoors!”

Annie smirks. “Well, I adore my whores an’ they’re hard to ignore but I want other things to explore.”

October laughs again. “Gods, Maw! Ye just as bad as the ol’ bastards that what had wrote them shanties!” 

“Hey, I _knew_ some of the old bastards who wrote those shanties.” Annie says, “What’re ya doing here? Usually you’re at ya boat.”

October shrugs. “Eh, ye know me, Maw. Me boat’s small. ‘Twas getting’ borin’so I came here.” The young woman leans against the banister. “Guess I just love the boat I was born en.”

With the sun easing from behind the clouds, October looks more like Annie in her early days of piracy. October’s hair is shorter and curlier and her straw hat has a peacock feather instead of a turkey one, but the young man’s body is just as knotted with muscle and scars as Annie’s was. The true difference between mother and daughter is the grey wash of October’s eyes reflecting whatever color is nearest.

“Ah, October, you know that this is only _part_ of the boat you were born on.” Annie says, “Everyone knows the real _Courser_ was destroyed when--”

The boat sways, repositioning in the water. Annie looks over the banister and steels her stomach for a gruesome sight—of chunks of wrecked wood and twisted metal—but there’s no wreckage. The ocean is churned, frothing and spraying as it has been since late last night.

“Serpent off the port bow!” cries the sailor in the crow’s nest.

“Serpent? In these miserable waters?” October shouts to the crow’s nest, “Ye certain it not be a rock again?”

Annie doesn’t wait for an answer. She shoves past idling sailors toward the port bow. The waters slap against stray rocks but Annie’s eyes make out the serpentine back coiling amongst it. Its long fins have an iridescent shimmer as the creature drifts towards the ship. 

“Rocks don’t have fins!” Annie turns to the sailors standing by, “Aim the guns!” 

The sailors exchange an uneasy look, avoiding eye contact with Annie.

October approaches her mother, biting her lip. “Maw, we en’t meant t’gun this early. Most likely t’disturb the guests--”

“Are ya _joking_?” Annie asks, “Ya afraid of disturbing the guests so ya gonna let the beast run amok? What if it attacks the ship?”

“Ma’am, the side guns ain’t even armed.” one of the sailors mutters, “All we got is the harpooning gun on the quarterdeck--”

“That’ll do!” and Annie moves to the other end of the ship, ignoring October’s protests.

The harpooning gun is a new model—a joint Mother’s Day gift from May, October, June, and September that was mounted on the quarterdeck. It has a comfortable chair, sturdy rope, and nearly perfect aim. Annie pushes a swabbie out her way and jumps into the harpooning gun’s chair. Once she’s in that chair, the fire inside Annie flares up. She can smell gunpowder in the air and see her cutlass slick with blood.

“Give me aim, boys!” Annie yells, “We either scare it or sup on serpent this morn!”

The sailors hesitate but after a nod from October, they move into action. The sailors spread through the deck like ants scrambling over an unprotected picnic, steering the _Grand Courser_ toward the sea serpent. Sails snap, riding the winds and giving the ship more speed. The serpent remains next to the ship’s side, waving fins in a territorial display and slapping the sides with its tail. Annie’s not sure why the beast is staying so close, but it’s likely the chefs have dumped something especially bloody in the water…or its mistaken the ship for a potential mate. Either way, it’s not very smart. It doesn’t work to hide among the stray rocks or the seafoam. One pull of the firing pin and the harpoon shoots out, tearing through the creature’s fins. The fanged harpoon tip lodges in its side with a spurt of yellow-green blood. The serpent screams, twisting on the rope and fouling the ocean with a sulfuric stench. Annie seizes the rope, hauling a weight meant for twelve men without breaking a sweat.

The serpent is already dead once its tugged out the ocean and tossed on the deck. The dead beast is sixteen feet of grey bumpy skin and long gown-like fins. Its maw resembles that of a whiskered horse, hiding the sharp tusks in its mouth. The sailors surround the beast and Annie, mouths agape at the sight. 

“Damn thing smells blinked already!” 

“This a serpent? It ain’t got no scales!”

“This one of ‘em New England serpents. All of ‘em be mammals like whales.”

“Whale or not, it’ll make a right good stew!”

“Ya idiot! Ya doan _stew_ a whale! Ya _fry_ it!”

“Small.” Annie sighs. She prods the sea serpent’s muzzle with her slipper and watches the slime pull away from it. If it weren’t for the markings of adulthood on the body, she’d think it was a baby. _Fully grown and didn’t even put up much of a fight,_ Annie realizes.

The deck door slams open and June walks out, wearing his black sleeping robe.

“What is going on out here?” June walks up the quarterdeck stairs, wagging a finger at the crew, “Why are our guests asking if we’re at war? Who gave permission to fire this early in the morning?” He then notices the dead sea serpent. “My _gods!_ What _is_ that thing?”

“Not important.” Annie walks past June, not bothering to look her son in the eye. “Tell the guests there’ll be fresh sea serpent _sashimi_ and bacon for breakfast. I’m sure they’ll get over themselves hearing that.”

Annie doesn’t wait for June’s response or October’s excuses. She steps through the door and returns to the depths of the ship.

 

* * *

 

 

If there are complaining customers, none of them approach Annie…though it’s rare for anyone to approach Annie that isn’t a relative. Annie’s not even sure the customers know she is. Annie certainly doesn’t dress like a captain, preferring a loose shirt and old pants when she _has_ to be presentable. Aside from that, it’s a silk robe with a wide brim hat if it’s sunny out. With her children in their respective areas, the _Grand Courser_ appears to run itself. It’s not like in the old days when Annie had to quickly decipher a map because their latest navigator took a cannonball to the skull and Confederate privateers were on their tail. There’s no scrabbling toward lone ports for supplies while avoiding sea hag battalions and marsh people blockades. 

Things are easier now. The most tedious thing Annie has to tolerate is enduring business meetings with her children in the largest cabin they have available. Annie refers to the specific meeting cabin as “The Circus” because of the chaos involved with the act of gathering all thirteen of them in one room. There is a long table with Annie positioned at the head (mostly so she can look out the window) and her children on either side of the table. The only one not present is May, who has sent an acolyte to record every word.

June argues over his siblings, making his points with drawing on the whiteboard he’s rolled into the room and occasionally slapping his pointing stick on the central table. Annie steadily drains the alcohol in the meeting room’s cabinets and looks out the window. The seas settled hours ago as the _Grand Courser_ passed Martha’s Vineyard. The island is as quaint as it had always been, clean and full of trees like any summer colony.

It’s dull as doing laundry. Hell, even _that_ could be exciting if the laundering is done by a river with spry fish and threat of gators. Watching the waters near Martha’s Vineyard is akin to watching paint dry. While the calm waters lap at the sandy shore, Annie thinks of firing canons and blood on her cutlass. In the stormy darkness, she can’t tell if its human red or fae quicksilver.

“Maw?” August asks.

Annie’s daydream evaporates as she looks from the window to her son. With the meeting adjourned, her other children have left the room. August looks at Annie with concern in his brown eyes. Out of all his siblings, he is the most dedicated to his occupation as head chef on the _Grand Courser_. He wears his uniform with pride, no matter what edible detritus its stained with.

“What is it, August?” Annie asks, “Golly sneaking into ya kitchen?”

“Always,” August grunts, “but that ain’t why I’m here. I wanted t’ask…” He scratches his head, shaking the untamed sienna afro. “What ye think o’ this plan o’ June’s? Havin’ uppity Seelie on our ship?”

Annie leaves the chair only to get another bottle from the cabinet. June had intended the cabinets for simple aperitifs but Annie had never been one for mint juleps and liver pâté. She pours another glass of bourbon whiskey. “It’s a plan. He’s excited for it…” She shrugs and takes a long sip.

“That ain’t what I mean an’ ye know it.” August says, “Ye weren’t seed when June told us about his plan. I thought maybe ye think it plum crazy an’ that’s why ye ain’t showed up. But then ye sit there while June goes on about this an’ that. We all know how much ye hate them Seelie an’ now June suddent wants ‘em here? I jus’ wanna know…ye _really_ want this, Maw?”

“Hate’s a strong word.”  Annie pauses for a drink and then continues, “Business is business. We can’t make our money robbing merchant ships and ransacking towns.”

“Just never thought ye’d want this is all. Ye know, when ye disappear, I thought ye just go on a ‘lil getaway. But then five years go by an’ not a peep from ye, an’ I think, ‘Maybe Maw is with Da now.’ That maybe it best if ye _doan_ come back. But ye _did_ come back an’ ye was happy at first…but not anymore. I can see it in ye eyes, Maw. Even them hoors doan make ye glad like they used ta. An’ now I’m thinkin’ that maybe…maybe ye oughta just go _back_ to Hong Kong?”

Annie snorts. Go back to Hong Kong? And what would be awaiting her there? Most of her time spent in that crowded city had been under the haze of opium and seen between the thighs of Madam Ching’s whores. Morning slurred into evenings and nights into dawns as Annie gorged herself on Peking duck and _baijiu_. It had been a nonstop party until Annie woke one morning and came upon two realizations: (1) she only had enough money left for a single night and (2) getting into debt with an infamously vicious pirate lord may not be the best thing for her personal wellbeing. Even Madam Ching’s going-away present of three whores had been double sided; had Annie refused, she would have likely been tossed into Kowloon Bay with cannonballs around her ankles along with the failed “presents” Annie had accepted the least troublesome concubines along with tickets out of Hong Kong. 

“I’ll miss the duck but that’s about it.” Annie drinks the remainder of her bourbon and moves to the door.

August doesn’t prevent her from leaving but Annie puts distance between her and her son just to be on the safe side. She keeps walking until she’s outside the entrance to the brothel’s central showroom.

Where is she going?

Back to her bedroom? Annie’s girls are sweet but none of them can hold a conversation. Golly knows a mishmash of Cantonese and British English. Kaylee can only read some English and Sam may as well be a mute for how little he understands. Even if they could speak English, years in Madam Ching’s brothel has taught them to fawn and preen rather than contribute.

So Annie goes to the place she knows best: the deck.

The sun set hours ago, causing Annie to wonder how long she spent in the circus-cabin drinking and musing on the past. The deck sailors have retired inside along with the guests, indulging themselves on this cold night with its calm waters. Annie walks to the forecastle and watches as the ship passes into a fog bank smelling of magic. Wrapped in the fog, ghostly ships move about with tattered sails and sides infested with barnacles.

A gunboat approaches the side of the _Grand Courser_ , flying white flags since the colors have long since faded. Ghosts in ice frosted petticoats and hats dance on the deck, singing with decaying throats and playing music with skeletal fingers. Bony sailors swing on the ropes, laughing and waving to Annie. 

“Annie!” one ghostly sailors says.  

“Hey, its Annie!” says another.

“Yo ho ho! Annie Christmas off the port side!”

“What say you, fair dead men?” Annie calls. In her early days, she would have run below deck rather than face a ghost ship. Now she knows better. The sailors who perished at sea in their prime are always peaceful. After all, what awaits them at home but ugly children and a slow death by syphilis?

“There’s a storm a-brewing!” says a dead cabin boy, “We on the _Palatine_ may have died long ago but we still hear whispers on the wind.”

“They say a dragon appeared in the Massachusetts wasteland.” says a dead swabbie, “‘Twas as tall as a skyscraper and breathed the hottest fire. Even humans saw the light of dragon’s fire that night.”

“Sounds like old sailor talk to me.” Annie chuckles, “You sure ya weren’t drunk when ya heard this?”

“I’m always drunk!” laughs the dead swabbie.

“I heard of the dragon too!” says the dead surgeon, “Fae say it slept in the earth and only now does it wake. With the end of this millennium, ends our world as well! 1999 marks the year of magic’s true return and all those that sleep in the earth shall wake up again.”

“What a good year to be dead!” laughs a dead powder monkey.

“Best to be dead than see the end of the world.” chuckles a dead sailor.

“Oh, Annie, come be dead with us!” A woman moves away from the dancing crowd, leans over the banister. Her dress is tattered and her uncombed hair blows in the wind. In life, she must have been prim and modest. In death, she’s turned over to feminine savagery. “When I was alive, I was cloistered and sad! I married a man who hit me! I bore two children who hated me! They all perished in the fever and flux and then I perished too with everyone!”

“Come with us, Annie!” cheers a dead child. Her eyes have rotted away, leaving black holes, “Come drown with us and we’ll show you the sights below the waters. We’ll drink in Atlantis and eat a mermaid’s dinner. Come with us and we’ll sing with the ghostlights.”

 _“Come with us! Come with us!”_ sings every ghost. The music turns wilder, changing to a louder German ballad. The madwoman doesn’t wait for an answer and rejoins the singing fray.

“You can master the ship! The captain’s long since gone!” says a gunner ghost.

“What happened to him?” Annie asks.

“Oh, even old salts can tire of such lovely unlife!” sighs the cabin boy ghost, “First his bones broke and his ectoplasm stiffened and then he crinkled into the sea like ashes! He’s with Davey Jones now or Fiddler Green, singing his own tunes at the bottom of the ocean. Be our captain, Annie! Sing with us into the colorless seas!”

Annie hesitates for only a second and then shakes her head.

“Everything is as it should be.” Annie breathes in the cold air, full of salt and the ectoplasm of the dead, “I’ve always seen everything as it is, ya seasalt bastards. I may sit in a low tide now but my heart still sings for the warmth and sun of life. I’ve yet to show these fae all the things a former human can do. Until then, ya’ll sail on without me.”

“But what other challenges _are_ there?” asks a dead violinist, “All the dragons are dead and the true sea serpents with them. No more sea hags to turn the waters against you, for the gold bitch put them to the sword!”

“And all the good men are gone too!” wails another woman with broken fingers and torn cheeks, “They all sleep under the earth!”

“Oh, Annie! Mike Fink was a fool and so was Stormalong and all the rest!” the madwoman drifts close again, buoyed by the winds and her instability. The ectoplasm holding her together trembles, threatening to break. “Come with us and we’ll treat you like a queen! We’ll string your hair with pearls and make a garland of English silver and Spanish gold! You’ll be our eternal captain, Annie!”

Annie’s mouth dries at hearing those names. Mike Fink. Stormalong. She sees a wreckage in a the stormy waters but no signs of the bodies a grand ship once held. She grasps the banister, keeping her on the _Grand Courser_ before she leaps into the water.

Annie forces a laugh out of her throat. “Sail on, ya seasalt bastards!”

The ghosts laugh too. _The Palatine_ moves ahead, taking its music and rejoining the ghost ship fleet. The ship joins the fog and Annie breathes heavily, still clutching the banister. The cold metal reminds her of another choice she made long ago. Another day spent in this mockery outside of normal human life. Tears run down her face but Annie quickly swipes them away. Now isn’t the time for tears. She didn’t weep when she left home with all its horrors. She’s certainly not going to cry because of memories brought on by ghosts.

“Oh, how the lovely night calls to me!” a voice gasps to the cold, dark air.

The voice is a welcomed distraction. Annie catches sight of December at the far end of the deck, clad in her usual uniform of a black multilayered dress and lacey veil. It reminds Annie of the dresses the white women on the plantations would wear, though December has added her macabre accessories of black roses and skulls.

The teenager looks out to the ghost ships, sighing dramatically. “Alas, the spirits call to me and yet I would be most graced to hear their soothing tones. How tragic that I cannot truly hear them, for I am only so limited in my talents!”

“A little early for the poetry, isn’t it, December?” Annie asks.

“Oh! Mother!” December looks to the forecastle and gathers her skirts, approaching her mother. Nearly thirty years have passed but December is still growing; still maintaining an awkward gait like a newborn foal. “Dearest, darkest, sweetest Mother! Do not think that I would not forget you! For if it were not for you and your friendliness with the dead, I would not have the talents I now possess!”

“Surprised to see you here is all.” Annie says, “Usually ya at ya boat ‘speaking with the spirits’ like May.”

“Dearest sister May and I commune with powers unknown but our methods are drastically different.” December says, “May travels in company with acolytes who hang upon her every word. Mine is that of the left path, the most sinister way which is most lonesome.” She sighs, fluttering auburn eyelashes. “Such is the life of those who speak with the dead.”

Annie questions how much of that isolation is self-inflicted, as December keeps her boat at the rear of the fleet and has hired only three sailors to care for it. She can only hope that December is young enough that this ‘Queen of the Dead and the Damned’ routine is a phase and not a fae-level obsession.

“Do they speak with you, Mother?” December’s eyes are back on the ghost fleet, “My young eyes only hear the dead when they are willing to talk. In their natural state, I can only hear the wind and see the thick fog.”

“You’re not missing much. Give it twenty more years and you’ll be hearing and speaking with them easily.” Annie thinks on the words of the sailors and asks, “Have you heard anything about a dragon sighting?”

December ponders for a minute. “One of my regulars mentioned a large fire in Massachusetts. In a landfill, I believe.” She shudders, “Oh, how _wretched_ to have once been fae and dwelt in the meadows and beauty of nature only to see it reduced to ugliness by foolish humanity!”

“I guess so.” Annie won’t mention that fae have ruined their own environments at the homestead, thus the need for colonization in the first place.

 “So goes it.” December shakes her head, “Mother, I’ve to ask you a question. It concerns…father.”

Annie’s grip returns to the banister but it dents under the pressure. “December--”

“Mother. _Please_.” December pleads, “I know how you dread to discuss it but I cannot suppress my feelings any longer. Ever since father’s disappearance six years ago, you’ve been adrift both physically and spiritually. Everyone else has shut their mouths and closed their eyes to it, but I cannot!”

Annie keeps her eyes to the sky. The night sky is full of clouds, promising a rainy tomorrow.

“I’ve communed with the spirits for days on the matter of father, Mother.” December continues.

The clouds are swirling and thick but there’s no rumble of thunder or hint of lightning. The beginning of a cyclone? No, there’s no funnel forming either and the waters are still. Annie squints at the cluster of clouds and sees shapes behind the cover—hooded men on horses, brandishing swords.

“The spirits say that they cannot find a hint of my father in the colorless lands. They require more than my blood for this grand search. I need--”

Erratic and jazzy music whispers in Annie’s ears; an ancient trumpet-player blasting the last of his tunes while death rattles his skeleton. Annie grabs her youngest child, yells _“Down!”_ before hurling them both to the floor. Mother and daughter hit the wood with December struggling, questioning what’s going through her mother’s mind. Annie covers her mouth and keeps her eyes on the sky. She remains still and quiet as a mummified corpse.

The cloud cluster breaks apart like a ripe spider’s egg. Men in ragged white shrouds pale horses into the night. Some have swords while others wave scalpels and scissors. Music follows them closely and Annie knows the stink of fae glamour even this far away. The hooded men fly off, disappearing among the fog of the ghost ship fleet. Only after they’ve left does Annie release December. Annie rises to her feet, watching the sky. The cloud cluster gestating those… _things_ …has evaporated.

“What was that?” December gasps, “What did you see, Mother?”

“Nothing good,” Annie mutters and forces her voice not to shake.

December swallows and rings her gloved hands. “I am deaf and blind to it and yet I felt— _something_. Something cold and ancient like a drowned skeleton.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Annie walks down the steps of the forecastle and approaches the deck door. “The legionnaires will handle it.”

“Mother! Mother, wait!” December calls. The teen girl stands with her skirts loudly rustling. “Mother, where is father’s cutlass?”

Annie grabs the doorknob but does not turn it. Silence hangs in the air but December does not back down. Even without facing the girl, Annie can hear the determination of her words in her harsh breathing.

“You know I burnt every last remnant of your father the day we found the wreck,” Annie says, “and the rest I cast to the bottom of the ocean. It’s what he would have wanted.”

“Mother…” December’s voice wavers. Annie looks over her shoulder and sees the teen girl sway. She looks ready to collapse with the weight of the revelation. “He could still be _alive!_ He could be in the grotto of some avenging sea hag or wrapped in the tendrils of a kraken’s child or--”

“ _Enough_!” Annie barks, “December. Ya father sleeps under the earth. Same as the father of ya other siblings. All the great pirates are dead and gone now: Long John Silver. Black Caesar. Captain Kidd, and now your father…they _all_ sleep.”

December’s blue eyes shine with wetness. Tears run down her face, dragging her black mascara. She stands on the forecastle, looking down at her mother and her skirts blowing in the sea breeze.

“Sleep implies they will wake.” she whispers.

Annie does not answer. She opens the door, returning to the bowels of the ship where she belongs.


	3. A Tour for the Seelie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some discussion of slave life in pre-Civil War America. Be careful, lovelies. -- V.

Once returned to her cabin, Annie had hoped to sleep for a thousand years. She even drunk her nighttime remedy of Bacardi rum and vodka to make her dead to the world for ten hours at the least. No dreams. No nightmares. Not even the visual hallucinations that come with the early stages of sleeping and waking. Just darkness. Emptiness.

Bliss.

Tonight is not so lucky. The claws of alcohol have dragged her under into sleep but Annie’s head throbs with wild music. The hooded men walk in her shadow, carrying swords and waving nooses like fetishes. She’s not Annie Christmas the Strong or Keelboater Annie the Brave. She’s a hairy eleven-year-old running blindly through the dark woods like a dog with fleas. Every branch hits her face and every footstep may belong to a beast or devil on the hunt.

The river calls to her but _good Lord,_ it mentioned nothing of the fear that would seep into her bones if she chased that voice. 

Annie wakes only when she’s fallen on the floor. Apparently, her sleeping mind and body had thought she was still running, still moving through the woods on a whim. The drowsiness is knocked right out of her body and Annie…just lays there. With how her days have been going so far, Annie may as well remain on the floor. The floor hasn’t done anything to irritate or disappoint her lately. Maybe she should appreciate it for that.

Kaylee kneels next to her. “Is Missy Annie sick?”

 _Not physically,_ but there’s no way to explain that to Kaylee without a mastery of Cantonese. “Not yet.” She mutters.

“Missy Annie it very bad!” Sam peeks over the edge of the bed, looking at her.

Annie sits up and looks at the clock. Three in the morning. Great. “Sam, for the _last time_ , that noise you’re hearing is the vacuum cleaner. It's _not_ dangerous.”

“Is not noise. Is Golly,” says Sam.

“Golly go hunting. Not come back long time.” Kaylee adds.

Annie groans. Once again, something else has gone wrong for Annie to fix. She almost regrets having picked a semi-feral fox fae as a concubine instead of the cannibal ogre. At least the ogre wouldn’t wander off during the night because of the instinctual urge to hunt at night.

Annie crawls from the floor and tosses on her silk robe.” Stay here.” she says to the duo before leaving the room.

The nighttime walk at least gives Annie the chance to glimpse the new decorations for the Seelie visit. Cutouts of golden roses are slapped on top of the wallpaper, every sign to the bathroom, casino, buffet, and elsewhere has a starry trim, and tinsel suns hang from the walls where lanterns once hung in the past. If Annie lived a chaster lifestyle, she would think the _Grand_ _Courser_ is being dolled up like Charlotte the Harlot. It’s likely that June has convinced the staff to dress up in something matching the décor in gold and gaudiness.

Annie arrives at the dark kitchen and turns on the light switch. August’s sailors have cleaned away everything and locked food and utensils in their drawers and pantries. The fluorescents reflect every shiny metal surface, making the kitchen look chrome and unsightly to Annie’s eyes. _Give me brass an’ a fireplace anyday,_ Annie thinks and begins her search for Golly. Usually, Annie finds Golly sniffing around the floor or chewing on mice in the corner but there’s no sign of the huli jing. Not even scraps of blood and fur on the ground to show past mischief.

There’s a rattle at the far end of the kitchen. It could be mice. It could be something bigger. The cabinets and drawers are locked but Annie doesn’t need a weapon. She slowly walks down the path between the counter and the wall of appliances. Her eyes scan every surface, looking for sudden movement.

Annie’s right ear picks up shuffling feet. Before the attacker can move in close, Annie digs her elbow into their throat. They fall back, hitting the wall in the small alcove they had been hiding. Her attacker is small and scrawny, with a bald head and wearing a gas mask. His bronze robes stink of the incense May uses liberally on her ship.

“Late to be lurking in my the kitchen, lad,” Annie says to the acolyte.

The acolyte bows low and his gas mask nearly scrapes the floor. “Yes, it is, Station Master, but I could not devise another safe circumstance of which to speak with you.” He coughs, forcing himself to speak after taking an elbow to the throat.

Of all the things Annie didn’t want to deal with this early in the morning, May’s weirdoes were at the top of the list. “Where’s Golly?” she asks.

The acolyte leads her to the pantry, whose lock has been opened. The acolyte pushes open the door and reveals Golly curled up on a pile of rice sacks in a drunken sleep. Next to her is an emptied bottle of rice wine.

“Your concubine came down here seeking mice and I placated her with alcohol so that you would come seeking her.” The acolyte again, “Forgive my treachery, Station Master.”

“I told ya weirdoes to stop calling me that.” Annie grumbles, “Does May need something?”

The acolyte shakes his head. “I come here on behalf of Conductor May but not as a voice for her. Please, let us talk in private.”

Annie doesn’t hesitate to step inside the pantry. Going off the voice, the acolyte can’t be older than fourteen. Unless a miracle occurs, there’s no way he could win in a fight against her. Once inside the pantry, the acolyte shuts the door.

“What’s this all about?” Annie asks.

“I am new to the fold, Station Master,” the acolyte begins, “and as such, I am far more worldly compared to the other acolytes. For five days now I have watched the Conductor and my elders meditate as The Gospel Train guides them amongst the stars. I am humbled by their power…but I am also troubled. We acolytes must care for our elders and the Conductor while they are in such a state, but I say they have slept for too long. There is also another matter. One amongst us is…different.”

“Different?”

“Five days ago, one of my friends, a fellow acolyte, snuck off the boat during lights out. She swore me to secrecy but when she returned, she was…different. She looked the same and smelled the same, but her behavior is not the same. She attends the same duties as the rest of us but she still disappears from time to time.” The acolyte bows again. “Oh Station Manager, I sense betrayal amongst us and I know not why! I have meditated long and hard on such thoughts and written all the proverbs of Babbage and Lovelace one thousand and one times but seeking your aid is all this simple acolyte can manage--”

“I _get_ it, little weirdo.” The fact that May’s sailors are so weird and the stink of incense is part of the reason why Annie avoids visiting May’s boat. “Why can’t you tell your superiors or whoever about this?”

The acolyte hangs his head in shame. “I fear punishment for allowing my friend to have such impure indulgences. We are so close to attaining enlightenment and thus rising in the ranks! I would not want us to be strayed from our divine path toward the Gospel Train!” 

“Listen, I don’t know _what_ ya expect me to do. I’m not even a conjurer.” Annie walks over to Golly and nudges the young woman. “I’ll stop by tomorrow if ya want, but today’s not good for your brand of nonsense.”

“But Conductor--”

“ _Tomorrow_ , little weirdo.”

Golly’s eyes snap open, showing the orange-red orbs that Annie has become fond of. The black pupils are shrunken, observing her surroundings for danger. Even a bottle of alcohol can’t dull her senses.

“ _Gu-ma?_ ” Golly mutters.

“‘Fraid not.” Annie says.

Golly blinks again, registering that Annie is standing before her. She shakes her head. “Missy Annie, Golly is no-good. Golly knows Missy Annie say not to leave. No go to hunting. Golly can not help. Golly wantee blood and…Golly miss Hong Kong long time.”The young woman’s words fall apart into sobs.

“Hey, its fine…I needed a walk anyway.”

Annie has dealt with Golly’s old sorrows long enough to know that she can’t be soothed with just words. She easily picks up the huli jing and returns to the bedroom. In the bedroom, Sam and Kaylee wrap themselves around Golly and work her through another crying fit. Annie sits in her armchair and pretends to be too occupied reading to bother with emotionally supporting her concubines. It’s the only kind of behavior the trio has been trained to understand. Annie remains wide awake until Golly’s crying has subsided. This time Annie dreams of nothing and is thankful for it.

 

* * *

 

 

When the sun rises in the sky, Annie is soaking in the tub in her private bath. Appearances are everything when it comes to Seelie affairs, so Annie bucks the trend of an old silk robe and straw hat. Once bathed, she opens the armoire, pulling out the ball of pearl necklaces. It had become too tedious over the centuries to stuff the hundreds of pearl necklaces in velvet bags and drawer cabinets were constantly filling up. Balling them into small orbs had been the most space-conserving solution.

“Missy Annie wantee dress?” Sammy holds up a white dress and a red dress with pearls sewn along the hips and chest. 

“Golly say red is best.” Golly says.

“They Seelie. They hate red.” Kaylee offers.

Annie unwinds a pearl string and nods. “Red it is then.”

The hardest task of the morning is squeezing into the dress. Annie hasn’t put on _much_ weight since she last dressed formally but it’s a war between the crimson fabric and her broad hips. Kaylee saves the day (and the dress) with a needle a thread when pearls pop off from the unwanted stretch. With the red dress saved, Annie sits in her vanity chair and allows Sam to brush her brown locks into a style. Hair care and makeup had been one of his many talents that Madame Ching had boasted of, calling Sam a “perfect lady’s attendant in both her bed and toilet”. Annie didn’t have the heart to tell the pirate lord that ‘toilet’ had taken on a different meaning in the 20th century.

“Lord, I hope I remember how to walk in a dress,” Annie mutters to her reflection. In the mirror, she sees not a graceful, retired pirate queen but a middle-aged woman trying to compete with the younger and prettier prostitutes in her employ.

“Missy Annie to be prettiest.” Sam brushes back Annie’s curls, sweeping it upward into a pompadour. He then pins a peacock feather to hold it in place. “See? Is already pretty!”

“Now shoes!” Kaylee runs over, holding black shoes with long spiked heels.

“Oh, no heels! I’ll break my neck trying!” Annie laughs, “Just the slippers, Golly. The ruby ones.”

The pumps had been made as a gift from a mage on the run who needed an emergency route out of Montreal with no questions asked. Aside from some misadventures, they arrived at Houston and the mage had widened, dyed, and sequined a pair of white silk pumps as a gift. Annie (who had thousands of boots but nothing for a formal occasion) was glad to have them.

Kaylee kneels before Annie, sliding the red slippers onto her feet. Once they’re on, Annie slowly stands and strides around the room to understand her balance. The last time she dressed this fancy had been five years ago and that had culminated into one of the worst days of Annie’s life. Compared to that, this Seelie event would be a cakewalk.

Once confident in her gait, Annie exits the bedroom and walks the halls. Heads turn and eyes glaze over, not recognizing Annie’s new elegance. The shock continues as Annie enters the circus room. Her children are already gathered and dressed in their best clothing.

February looks at his mother and almost falls out his seat. “Gods! _Maw_?” he gasps, “Is that… _ye_?”

“If there’s any other seven-foot black women around here, I’d like to meet ‘em!” Annie laughs. As June is at the head of the table today, Annie takes the chair between September and November. “Y’all have seen me in a dress before this!”

“Not lately,” October mutters.

“Like _ye_ would know.” March snorts. He then yelps. “ _Ow!_ Doan kick me under the table! What are ye, five?”

“Aye.” October snickers. 

“Ye two should act ye age.” April says, not moving her eyes from the gun she’s polishing. 

“April! No _guns_ in the meeting room!” Annie says.

April pouts. “That ain’t fair! September gets to do _his_ hobbies.”

“My hobbies doan involve shootin’ people in the face.” September counters and continues pressing buttons on his handheld game. 

Annie looks around the room and someone besides May is missing. “Where the hell is June?”

“I’m in here!” A part of the wall opens and three boxes fall out. June steps out of the partition wheeling a black and bronze device on top of a wheeled cart. Even sixty years later, Annie knows the magic lantern June’s father gave him for his eighteenth birthday.

“Wait, we have a _closet_ in here?” Annie asks, “If I knew that, I could’ve stored more booze in here!”

“And _that_ is why I’ve kept it a secret from you.” June returns the boxes to the closet and shuts the door.

“Aw, damn it to hell, June!” January groans, “Y’ain’t gonna turn this inta one of ye boring ass presentation, is ye?”

June removes his pointer from his pocket and unfolds it. “Sister, what I have composed is _very important_ to the success of--”

June’s words are superseded by a chorus of groans.

“Just ‘cause we immortal doan mean we have all the time in the world ta listen ta ye blab!” August says.

“Even May’s acolyte would get finger cramps!” October says, pointing to the acolyte sitting next to her.

“I shall record all that is said for the benefit of the Conductor, no matter the length.” the acolyte insists.

“This won’t take long.” June says, speaking over the complaining choir. He blows the dust out of the magic lantern and opens the box of painted glass slides next to it.

The first slide is a painted lithograph of Seelie aristocrats riding a sleigh pulled by enchanted reindeer. At the front of the sleigh is King Sheba, wearing her regal crystal and gold crown. Her tri-colored hair the shade of sunset is wrapped around her. Below the sleigh is a human city of cement and glass. On the bottom of the lithograph is the caption, _King Sheba & company enjoy a winter sleigh ride through New York._

“Since I doubt any of you read the dossier our employees had to read, I’m going to reiterate our plans.” June starts, “At 1700 we will enter Block Island Sound and dock at Gardiners Island--”

“Gardiners Island?” asks March, “I thought we were going ta New York?”

“Yeah, why we headed ta Rhode Island?” January asks.

“What’s 1700 again?” April whispers.

“5 in the evening,” July says, turning another page in her worn copy of _Camilla._

“We _are_ going to New York!” June insists, speaking over his siblings, “Gardiners Island is where we are picking up our guests. The area near Block Island Sound is shared between Connecticut and New York waters, which is where we will be lounging during this excursion. If all goes well, our guests should depart at 2300 at the latest--”

“What’s 2300?” asks September.

“11 at night.” Annie offers.

June stops speaking and Annie prepares for him to yell. Instead, June shuts his eyes and slowly inhales. The side conversations in the room ebb away as June takes a deep breath and looks to his mother and siblings.

“I want all of you to listen very closely because I am going to speak truthfully now,” June says, “I love this ship, I love this business, and I love you all as much as a person could love blood relatives…but you’re all incompetent, drunken, pirate-spawn who shouldn’t be within an arm’s reach of any modern business structure!”

“Hey, I’m not _currently_ drunk!” Annie huffs. 

“An’ only half of us had a pirate for a Da,” January adds, “The other half had a brawler an’ boatman.”

“A boatman’s the same thing as a pirate,” February says.

“No, it ain’t,” March says.

“Wait, what’s the difference ‘tween a keelboater an’ a boatman?” December asks. 

“There ain’t no difference.” August states.

“There’s a _huge_ difference!” Annie insists.

“ _Enough_!” June slaps his pointing stick on the wall where King Sheba’s face is. “King Sheba. Current ruler of the Seelie Court. We owe her money. _A lot_ of money.”

“We _know_ who Sheba is. We ain’t _all_ ignorant.” September mutters.

“So she’s comin’ on our boat?” November asks.

“No, the Seelie King is far too important to bother with us.” June clicks a button and the next slide moves into place.

The next slide is of King Sheba sitting in an opera box. Next to the king is a woman with dark skin and blonde ringlets thick as a man’s arm. Her clothes are less ornate than Sheba’s but are matched in their expense. The caption reads, _King Sheba at the performance of Guys and Dolls._

June points to the woman. “This is our guest: Duchess Candace of Connecticut. The Duchess is cousin to King Sheba and also supervises the Seelie treasury. This woman makes her living checking who is and isn’t paying taxes. Included with Candace is her own circle of work friends, employees, and suck-ups, but we need to focus on appealing to the core.”

The next lithograph displays Duchess Candace entering a car with three other women. Keeping the reporters at bay is a young man in a dark blue and white suit with a half-cape hanging off one shoulder. From the crispness of the image, this is the most recently made lithograph. The caption reads, _Duchess Candace & company exiting the theater. _ 

“Where did you get these pictures from?” July mutters.

“Ye stalkin’ ‘em?” September asks.

“I xeroxed them from the newspaper archives!” June huffs, “You bunch should take some time out of your day to patronize our local library.”

“Ain’t like all of us can use books.” October snorts.

“Ye know Braille,” November says.

October shrugs. “Doan mean I _use_ it.”

“June, we live on boats. There ain’t no local libraries.” January says.

“There’s July’s boat.” December offers.

July mumbles something that sounds roughly like “Fat chance I’m letting you lot in there” and turns another page in _Carmilla._ June sighs and returns to the presentation.

June points to the young man standing between the Duchess and the crowd. “This man is the Duchess’s bodyguard, Indrid Cold. Do not trifle with him, even as a joke, because he does hesitate to use lethal force.” June points to the other women. “This woman is Duchess Candace’s secretary. There is some dispute about whether she is Candace’s lover…”

As lovely as the women’s faces are, Annie’s attention returns to the young man. ‘Indrid Cold’ is an unusual name for Seelie, whose nobles prefer naming their children after dead ghosts and forgotten spirits. His skin is a pale pearl pink, highlighted against the browns and tans of the Seelie surrounding him. His red-brown hair is also short, kept coiffed and close to the face so it won’t become a distraction in battle.

“What’s the deal with the Unseelie?” Annie asks.

“Huh?” The perplexed look on June’s face shows surprise at Annie speaking, let alone asking a reasonable question while his siblings are griping. “Oh, you mean Cold? Yes. Well. I don’t know _all_ the details as it happened recently, but there was some unpleasantness between King Sheba and one of the Unseelie military clans. In order to settle a dispute, they did an heir trade. Cold was sent to the treasury as a guard. I’m not sure what happened to the Seelie heir, but I assume they’re in a similar political position.”

June begins discussing the evening events but Annie tunes him out. _Why would the Seelie and Unseelie do an heir trade?_ she thinks. Heir trades were common in the older days when the lines between the castes were adamant and the friction between the Seelie and Unseelie was fiery. The constant threat of war made heir trades almost perpetual: exchanging the latest generation to be raised amongst their enemies in the hope of establishing a better connection and understanding. It also prevented one court from obliterating the other because it would risk their potential future. In modern times, heir trades were unheard of…unless something serious happened. Something that even the loose lips in the Seelie Court hungering for the downfall of the Sheba dynasty would keep quiet about.

Times like this make Annie wish for December’s budding mediumship or May’s extensive precognition. It’s an idle wish though. If Annie had the talent for conjure, it would have manifested long ago. As it stands, she’s just a freakishly strong woman who got lucky.

 

* * *

 

 

Gardiners Island is the same spit of land it has always been with combed beaches on the outside to protect the bushy trees hiding the costly beachside homes. The _Grand Courser_ shirks the public docks, moving to the rocky north side of the island. Human eyes would only see the broken bricks and cement that had made the base of a lighthouse and the smothering fog.

Annie Christmas stands on the deck of her ship, amongst her children, concubines, and workers, and sees past the illusory magic that separates fae and humanity. An open-air villa stands above the mossy remains of the lighthouse, crowded with a parade of shining Seelie. Duchess Candace is in front, sitting on a cushioned chair and being doted on by little green waiters. Seelie nobles flank her, making polite conversation as they sip wine and nibble on mini-quiches. Bodyguards orbit the nobles and Annie can tell their baggy clothes conceal weaponry.

 _What’s got them so spooked?_ Annie recalls the cloud bursting and the swarm of ghosts, but she had heard nothing of it from the employees or on the news. Where had that group of undead gone? 

While June is orchestrating everyone into position, October sidles close to Annie. “How’s the crowd, Maw?” she asks. 

“A bunch of glittering, golden snobs being impressed with themselves,” Annie says, “and we’re going to drain them of every single madstone.”

The _Grand Courser_ pulls closer to the villa. The gangplank descends and June with it, who welcomes the Seelie in his most ostentatious voice. Annie rolls her eyes and holds out her hand for a drink, which Golly happily supplies.

“How long d’ye think June been plannin’ this shindig?” October asks, keeping her voice low.

“Longer than he lets on.” Annie drains her glass and has Golly refill. “June’s just like his father. Fink pretended to be a buffoon but he was always thinking three steps ahead.”

“An’ my Da?”

“Ya got the alcohol tolerance. Stormalong could drink a giant under the table and die of thirst in the next minute.”

A sharp pain shoots through Annie’s chest. _Stormalong._ When was the last time she spoke that name? Hell, when was the last time she _thought_ about that man. She spent five years trying to erase every bit of evidence related to Alfred Bulltop Stormalong. She fled across the ocean, to a different country and tried to scrub off his scent and image and one word—one _measly, fucking word_ —and Annie’s returned to that raw ache that feels like a gash on her heart with salt rubbed in it.

 “Annie Christmas, as I live and breathe!” Duchess Candace chuckles.

The pain still pulsates in Annie’s chest, but she can’t be weak. Not now. Annie inhales her drink, passes the glass to Golly, and approaches the entourage of Seelie walking onto the deck.

The Duchess has laid the glamour on thick this evening, adding a heavenly golden glow to her brown skin and shimmering sparkles to her hair. Her dress is a complex beauty, with multiple tiered skirts and the beaded train held off the floor by two little green servants. Indrid Cold stands next to her, wearing a formalized military uniform. His blue eyes scan the crowd, mentally categorizing potential threats. Behind the duo are sycophants and employees, fanning themselves and looking indifferent to the pomp of the occasion. 

“I would have thought you retired to Davey Jones’ locker by now but here you are!” the Duchess says, “How long has been? A hundred years? Two?”      

“I’m old enough to know that question’s not worth paying attention.” Annie answers. June glowers at her from the crowd and she adds, “Never been crazy for Davey Jones. I’m river scum all the way. If I’ve a devil, he never spoke to me.”

“Fascinating!” The Duchess holds out a hand and her secretary provides a fan. “I never thought former humans were capable of such elusive behavior. There are so many stories of your kind making deals with ‘devils’ to pursue your goals.”

Annie frowns. Of course, it comes back to _that_.

“Us humans have made good on our own,” Annie says, “seeing how I was a regular ol’ human when I pulled your ass out of the fire when sea hags became too much. Or do they leave that part out of your history books now?”

The Duchess raises an eyebrow but June steps between Annie and the Seelie.

“Ah ha ha! Mother has always had a quick wit!” June laughs. The Duchess has covered her face with her fan, giving away no opinion. “Not a day goes by that mother doesn’t recall her time serving in King Sheba’s army--”

“I _helped._ I didn’t _serve_.” Annie corrects.

June looks at his mother and every muscle is his face strains to say _You are not helping!_

“How amusing!” A woman behind the Duchess giggles. The Seelie steps from the entourage, approaching Annie and October with small mincing steps. Gold and pink butterflies flutter around her head and a green servant closely follows her heels. “I am fascinated with the military history of our people. Please do go on about your service.”

October steps forward and bows at the waist. “I served in more recent times under King Sheba’s fifth daughter when she was disrespected by merchants from Ohio.”

“Oh, yes. I remember that!” the woman holds out her hand, “Arban Hilly.”

October locates the hand and kisses the gloved knuckle. “October Stormalong Christmas. Charmed t’meet ye.”

Annie scowls at a lost opportunity for an interesting lay but has to respect her daughter’s game skills. October walks off with the woman and the tension between Annie and the Duchess disperses. Seelie explore the deck, advancing on the complimentary drinks or toward the casino. June introduces his siblings to the Duchess and what section of the business they run. Each of the Duchess’ entourage seems to have specific interest in each of the Christmas children, whether it’s a baroness asking February about growing rare homeworld plants or a count requesting December contact his long-departed mother.

As Annie predicted, she was a temporary amusement to be forgotten once the Seelie had other distractions. She exits the deck, walking to her personal balcony overseeing the casino showroom floor. The distance allows her to see the spectacle of the performers and avoid most of the rabble. Annie watches November’s trained dancers sing sea shanties on the stage and drinks down two more glasses of spiced rum. Golly waits on her but often returns to watch Kaylee and Sam play mahjong while resting on the pillows piled in the balcony corners.

Golly refills Annie’s mug until she holds up the bottle, stating “Missy Annie, all out now.”

“Then get the other one.” Annie says.

Golly walks to the cooler hidden in one of the pillows piles. The huli jing opens it and then shakes her head. “This out too.”

“Then get another one.” Golly looks ready to run off but Annie grabs the fox fae’s arm, “ _Don’t_ go in kitchen. Kitchen busy, okay? _No_ bother cooks and _no_ takee food, _okay_?”

“Okay!” Golly pulls from Annie and runs from the balcony.

Annie questions how much of the order Golly understood but it's not as if the night can get worse. She flops into her armchair and swirls the half-melted ice around the glass mug’s bottom.

“I can hear ya, y’know.” Annie sighs, “It may be loud as Mardi Gras in here but my ears ain’t _that_ bad.”

A fae cautiously enters the balcony from the hallway. Her clothes belong to human fashion trends, wearing a gold slip dress and puka shell necklace. Her skin is a shiny green with a gator-like snout but the mane of stringy hair tells Annie she’s not a fullblood gator man.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t know if I was bothering you or not.” the gator fae says, “There weren’t any guards around so…”

“Guards? What am I: an old woman?” Annie places the empty mug on the table next to her and beckons the girl closer. “Anyone on the crew is free to chat with me, from swabbies to admirals.”

The gator fae blinks. “Do pirates have admirals?”

Annie pauses. “Not sure. To be honest, I was never keen on rankings.” That had been the concern of class-obsessed men like Stormalong. “Lemme guess; ya here to ask a favor on behalf of ya boss.”

“I…I didn’t…” The gator fae wrings her claws. “I mean I--”

“Don’t pretend like y’ _ain’t._ Ya obviously colony born.” Annie grumbles, “So what’s ya job? Getting coffee? Taking notes? Being someone’s mistress?”

“ _No_!” the gator fae growls, showing her fangs, “For your information, I’m a junior analyst. I help with the numbers. I went to _school_ for it.” 

Annie sits up when she sees the fangs. Most don’t have the spine to correct her on even small details. “Really now?”

“My name is Jessa, and I…I grew up hearing your stories.”

Shit, now Annie _really_ wishes she had a drink. She peers down the hallway but there’s no sign of Golly. “I don’t have any stories.”

“Mayflies have short memories but the fae remember.” Jessa moves to the banister and Annie sighs. She rises from her chair and looks toward the casino floor. “Do you see the black-haired man at the blackjack table? That’s Lord Torii. He always goes on about the sea hag wars. He tries to leave out how mercenaries--”

“I remember him,” Annie says.

It’s hard to forget an ugly mug like Lord Torii’s. Years later and the tengu noble still wears the same silken feudal Japanese fashions that his family has been holding onto since they arrived in the New World. His small and useless wings are on display, decorated with ornate clasps and jewelry to accentuate their importance to his ancient bloodline. Lord Torii sits shoulder to shoulder with other Seelie nobles, throwing back drinks and increasing his bet. 

“What’s this bastard doing here?” Annie asks, “He can’t add two numbers to save his life.”

“He’s married to my boss.” Jessa grumbles, “She couldn’t come so he’s representing her.”

Annie picks her head up. “Lord Torii? Married to a _tax_ _accountant_?”

“ _Senior_ tax accountant. She’s not nobility but--”

Annie’s laughter rings through the upper balcony. The laugh erupts into a coughing fit and Annie has to thump her chest to end it.

“Lord Torii! Married to some run-of-the-mill tax accountant!” she chortles, “Oh, that’s fucking _rich!_ All those years of bragging about how he was gonna marry into homeworld aristocracy and he settles for a _pencil pusher_! _Well_!” She smiles at Jessa. “Looks like you brought me some _good_ news.”

Just on time, Golly arrives with a bottle of rum. She notices Jessa and hisses, showing her fangs.

“Hey, I told you no hissing at guests!” Annie says. Golly scowls and opens the bottle, pouring Annie another glass. Annie takes it, smiling. “ _Xiexie!_ ”

Golly pouts and sits on a pillow pile. She uncovers a Rubik’s cube from the pile and starts trying to solve it.

Annie slings back a drink with a satisfied smile and looks to Jessa. “I’d offer you some but I need this.”

Jessa shakes her head. “I wouldn’t get between a pirate and her drink.”

“You’re smarter than most then.” Annie pours herself another glass not having the patience to wait for Golly’s mood to improve. “You better ask me any questions you got while this bottle is full.”

“I just have the one question,” Jessa says, “Human who crossover to our realms are already rare but its even rarer that some of them are.... _were_ …”

“Slaves? Yeah, I get that a lot.” Annie is long past the point of being sensitive about her history.  “Even back on the plantation, I knew I was different an’ not just ‘cause I was faster, stronger, an’ tougher than everyone else. When I was picking cotton an’ hauling wood, I could hear the river singing. Calling to me an’ telling me how to find it. Overseers hated me but I was too tough to be cowed by the whip. One night, I just gave up resisting it. I said ‘Fuck this’ and just…left.”

“And it was that easy?”

“Shoot no!” Annie laughs, “Plantations were huge as hell. Miles of cotton an’ tobacco an’ overseers always on the lookout. I was just lucky them bastards were too drunk an’ horny to notice a slave running off on a moonless night. I was scared shitless when I ran too. See, them overseers had all sorts of tales to keep slaves from running. Day in day out they’d tell us ‘bout the monsters an’ nasties that lived in them woods. Still, I ran an’ found my river an’my freedom with it.”

Annie pauses to take another sip. Her throat hadn’t felt dry a minute ago but now she thirstier than a man in the desert. Thinking back on it, Annie had been lucky that the river had led her to a trader port desperate for hard workers and friendly to runaways. She was young, muscular, and hairy enough to be mistaken for a boy and immediately put to work on a keelboat.

“Did you see the fae who called you to the river?” Jessa breathes, enraptured by the story.

Annie shakes her head. “Nah. Ain’t even sure if there was a fae or if I was touched in the head. Either way, it weren’t the first time I seen more than others. Other humans thought I was strange but they chalked it up to slavery’s roughness and me being a different race.” Jessa looks perplexed and Annie adds, “Was a different time back then, when they thought dark skin meant ya weren’t that far from being a beast.”

Jessa feels her reptilian snout but nods.

“Once I was free and not focusing on being worked to death, I took more notice. I saw bumps in the water weren’t just logs but kelpie an’ every other tree was a dryad. I got real careful where I walked, noticing fae-laid traps and being respectful to the land just like the Indians had been. Still didn’t know what I was doing though. That’s why the first time, I _truly_ crossed over, it was a big ol’ accident.”

Jessa blinks. “Accident?”

“I’d been working for the Railroad for some time, ferrying runaways from South to North. One time I dropped off some folks in Maine an’ realized I had low supplies. Was a big ol’ bounty on my head so going into town weren’t an option. I decided to go about it the old-fashioned way an’ track down a meal. I went deep into the woods ‘fore I noticed deer were awfully scarce. I kept going deeper, moving past tree after tree. Felt like I’d been walking for weeks until every bone in my body tells me this place ain’t for me an’ everything was just… _wrong_ in a way I couldn’t explain. Then I see… _him._

“He was the first fae I ever seen, standing tall an’ handsome with antlers an’ surrounded by every beast an’ bird in the woods. He was quiet as death but I could see all his wisdom in those bright green eyes. Damned handsome fellow too with his olive skin an’ red-brown hair. Was nothing like I’d ever seen before in my whole life.

“So, I ask him, ‘Is ya an angel?’

“A damn stupid question, but he humors me. He says, ‘You can see me, human?’an’ I say, ‘Damn right I can see ya! Ya sitting right there!’ That made him laugh an’ it was the most beautiful sound I ever did hear. He says, ‘Well, the world is just _full_ of surprises today.’ Then he tells me his name is Lord Selvans an’ he represents King Sheba’s army. Now, I ain’t never heard of no King Sheba but I wasn’t going to start arguing with what I thought was one of the Lord’s messengers. He takes me to his base camp an’ introduces me to the rest of his soldiers. Everybody was all confused ‘bout what to do with me. See, I was the first human they found that crossed over an’ could properly see ‘em all.

“Torii, being the bastard he was, kicked up a big ol’ fuss. He says, ‘She’s just a stupid mayfly. So what if she can see? She’s no help to us!’ Well, I weren’t about to take _no_ insult sitting down. I say, ‘Long-nosed bastard, I’m the fastest thing on water! I can out-race, out-shoot, out-fight, out-drink any man, woman, or whatever in the hell you are!’ ‘Course Torii didn’t believe me, saying sea-hags were the fastest things on water, so I say, ‘You wanna bet your pearls on it?’ ‘cause Torii had necklaces of pearls that I’d been eying since I saw him. Lord Selvans was a good-humored sort of fella, so she says, ‘Alright, you two. Let’s see you take on some marsh scouts and if she passes, she stays with us’.”

“And you passed?” Jessa asks, grinning.

“Hell yeah, I did!” Annie laughs, “I went keelboating around, cutting the throats of marsh people that jumped at me. I was scared out of my wits but I bit, punched, an’ kicked anyone who tried to come at me. At the end of the day, there were so many chewed off fingers, ears, noses, an’ fallen teeth I made a necklace. Torii gave up his pearls an’ I knew I was made for this life.”

“So you really were part of the King’s army?”

“Eh, not _really_.” Annie shrugs. “I was just a merc so I was an ace in the hole when it came to the water cause sea hags controlled every lake an’ river an’ the fae with it. In exchange for helping Sheba’s army, they helped me move more folks outta slavery. Made things a bit tricky though ‘cause folks would see me talking to trees and reading the water and think I was a witch.”

Annie takes another drink.

“It’s not like they was wrong. I weren’t no conjurer but I _was_ changing. More and more, I was eating fae food and drinking fae drinks. Couldn’t conjure for anything, but I knew how to run and disappear better than any human could. I was still a human ‘til--”

“Cheat! _Cheat!”_

The cry comes from the casino floor. Lord Torii stands at the blackjack table, wagging his polished cane at the dealer.

“There’s no way you could have had those cards!” Lord Torii’s words are loud and slurred, “This whole game is fixed! I want my money back!”

“Sir, you’ve obviously had too much to drink--” the dealer says.

“I don’t care about how many drinks I’ve had! The game is fixed!” Lord Torii shoves a bouncer away from him, “Get off me! I paid for the right to be in this miserable excuse of a casino and my voice will be heard!”

 _“Torii!”_ Annie shouts. The tengu looks up to the balcony as Annie leans over the banister, “We gotta strict policy about cheating: we don’t do it an’ if ya think we are, ya take it up with the management after ya walk from the tables.”

Lord Torii clenches his teeth. “Annie _fucking_ Christmas.” he growls, “Just like you to hide behind your cheating dealers. A real man would come down and--”

_Thud._

The showroom floor shakes as Annie lands on the ground. All conversation and music hush as Annie strides toward the fae noble. Whore and gamblers move aside from the gambling tables and the approaching captain. Even June is quiet and keeps close to the Duchess and her entourage.

“That’s _Captain_ Annie fucking Christmas to you, birdbrain,” Annie says, “an’ ya _best_ watch what ya say. Ya seem to have forgotten how shit went down at the Cape ‘cause I whupped ya ass then an’I can whup it now.”

Lord Torii swallows but he holds his head high. “Things have long since changed, Christmas. How long has it been since the battles in the Atlantic? You were lucky before but now you’re no different from any run-of-the-mill scoundrel: running a whorehouse and cheating honest, hardworking fae out of their money because you’re too old to be a _true_ pirate.”

The words hang in the air like a miasma. The crowd backs away further, hugging the showroom walls. The casino bouncers are ready to pounce on Lord Torii. One word from Annie and they’ll toss the tengu off the ship to contend with the waves and cannibal mermaids.

“Y’know what? Ya right.” Annie turns from the tengu, “I’m ‘bout two centuries too old for ya foolishness. I thought ya’d’ve grown up by now, but I guess that was thinking too highly of ya. I ain’t gonna let ya ruin my night, so collect ya’self an’ get the fuck off my ship ‘fore my men _throw_ ya off.”

Torii bristles and his face reddens. “Always the coward, eh Annie? Perhaps that’s why Stormalong left you high and dry at low tide!”

Every muscle in Annie’s body freezes, stopping her mid-step. Two more steps and she would be out of the showroom and back to the balcony. Back to her concubines and alcohol and everything else that smothers her pain. The side conversations and comments halt, replaced by uncanny silence. Annie’s mouth goes dry as a Cape Cod beach on a summer day. Pain rakes across her chest and it sets off a spark like a match across striking paper.

Annie whips around, facing the flush-faced aristocrat. She tugs sharply on the dress, ripping off the gown and tossing it aside. Fallen pearls bounce off the floor. She stands in the showroom wearing silk pantaloons on her legs and pure rage on her face.

Annie cracks her battered knuckles. “You best be ready to dance, bird boy ‘cause I go all night once I start.”

June shouts for people to clear the way. Cautious patrons leave the room while brave onlookers remain behind the decorative pillars. A cheer comes from the workers—whores and dealers alike supporting their captain.

“Missy Annie!” Golly cries from the balcony. The huli jing sits on the balcony banister and waves a cutlass. Jessa is standing next to her, conflicted between concern for the fox fae’s balance and the outcome of the proposed fight.

Golly tosses down the cutlass and Annie runs over, catching it. The cutlass is lightweight and old, but Annie’s glad that she stashed weapons in every room for situations like this.

“ _Xiexie, Golly_!” Annie says.

Lord Torii twists his cane and pulls it apart, exposing the hidden blade. Annie doesn’t know one Asian blade from another but going by the design, it’s likely an expensive replica of something feudal and Japanese. In other words, perfect for a pompous ass like Torii.

The tengu launches himself forward, aiming to skewer Annie with his blade. Annie backs away, raising her sword and blocking the swing. The showroom floor rings with the sound of metal clashing against metal. Annie has been in enough fights to know to pace herself—relying on parries and evasion.

“Stop running, you coward!” Torii pants. Sweat runs down his face and into his eyes.

The tengu wipes the sweat with a sleeve and Annie slices forward. Torii bends back but can’t save the front of his shirt. Annie’s cutlass hits its mark, tearing open the luxury shirt and jacket. 

“Looks like you should’ve sprung for better clothes.” Annie snickers.

Torii scowls and moves back. He bumps against a forgotten card table, rattling the piles of cards and chips sitting on it. The tengu seizes a handful of chips and tosses them at Annie. The tiny plastic discs are only a brief—but annoying—distraction.

“You’ll have to do better than that, crow!” Annie growls.

She looks at Torii but doesn’t see a Seelie noble holding a blade and ready for a counterattack. She sees the barrel of a handgun. Annie’s instincts slam into her and she throws herself to the ground.

_Bang!_

The bullet fires and luckily doesn’t meet flesh, striking the face of a mermaid carved into one of the decorative pillars. Screams erupt from the crowd and people make a mad dash for the exits. Unlike swords, gunfire never makes for good spectator’s sport.

Annie scrambles off the ground and stomps toward Torii. “The fuck is the _matter_ with ya?”

“S-stay back!” Torii has dropped his sword cane and is tightly gripping the handgun, “Just stay where you are.”

Annie can’t recall the last time Torii has looked at anything with such fear, even when they were in the heat of battle. She keeps her distance from the jittery tengu. 

“Alright. It's okay.” Annie lowers her sword, “What’s going on, Torii?”

Torii swallows and slowly lowers the gun. The look on his face is that of immense unease, like a hydrophobe walking the plank.

“Lord Torii.” Duchess Candace steps away from the pillar she’s hidden behind. Her secretary clings to one side while Indrid Cold is positioned behind the duchess. June is behind the pillar with the remainder of the employees.

The Duchess narrows her eyes, glaring at the tengu aristocrat. “I specifically told you _no_ firearms.”

“You’ve never seen her fight!” Torii shakily returns the handgun to his jacket and picks up the sword cane, “I know better than to tousle with a she-devil without backup.”

Duchess Candace sighs like a parent disappointed with their child’s test results. “And for that act of disobedience, your payment in this endeavor shall be penalized.”

The blood drains from Torii’s face.

“That wasn’t part of the deal.” Torii approaches the Duchess, only to stop mid-step when Indrid Cold moves toward him. Torii swallows but backs down. “You promised me those madstones! You think I’ll tolerate you going back on your word? I’ll take this to--”

“Lord Torii, before you continue speaking I suggest you think on the livelihood of your lovely wife.” The Duchess’ secretary states, “I would hate to inform her that due to the irresponsible behavior of her husband, she would have to seek another place of employment. Especially at _her_ advanced age.”

Torii gulps but turns away from the Duchess, running toward the exit. He’s likely to seek a way off the boat since no employee would serve him food, drink, or company after insulting their captain.  

“Mind telling me what in the fuck is going on here?” Annie asks.

“I would _also_ like an explanation,” June says. He walks over to his mother and faces the Duchess and her entourage. His every word drips with anger, “If this is a joke, it’s in poor taste.”

“If we were in the business of making jokes, we would have taken up satire.” the secretary says, “We arranged for Lord Torii to instigate a fight as proof that your skills are still as sharp as they were in your days of service. We were mistaken in thinking time has slowed you down, Keelboat Annie.”

“I ain’t been called that in years.” Annie grumbles.

“And yet the importance of the title has not been forgotten.” the secretary continues, “We will pay for the damages sustained to your casino by Lord Torii but firstly, Her Grace wishes to speak with you in a more private location about a personal matter.”

Annie keeps her face still but inside she’s cursing a blue streak. She should have seen Seelie tomfoolery all over this: from their willingness to patronize the _Grand Courser_ to having a servant butter her up and bring Lord Torii to her attention. Annie doesn’t have to turn around and look at the balcony to know her men are still ready for the ambush. A single code word or gesture and they’ll open fire on the Seelie without question.

That would only be the start of the bloodshed. Annie has seen firsthand how kindly Sheba takes to familial insults.

“You _lie_ about your intentions and you have the _gall_ to ask for our _help_?” June grows, “What kind of _fools_ do you take us for?”

Annie touches June on the shoulder, passing a code to her son: _Stand down._

“I’ll speak.” Annie doesn’t look at the secretary, instead focusing on the cold blue eyes of the Duchess. There’s no warmth radiating off of her anymore as she’s cast off the role of the eccentric aristocrat. Annie knows this blank expression is one every Seelie nobles must master if they wish to survive the court’s cutthroat politics.

June swallows and looks at the secretary. “Excuse me. I was merely…shocked at the turn of events. Allow me to escort you so that we may speak privately.”

The secretary bows at the waist. “Thank you for accommodating us.”

June escorts them to the captain’s cabin without another word. The room isn’t large enough to fit the entire entourage but the Duchess doesn’t kick up a fuss. She smoothly enters the cabin with just herself, the secretary, and Indrid Cold while the remaining people wait outside the door. Annie badly wants a drink but tampers down the urge. She needs to be sharp if she’s to figure out what’s going on. She sits behind her desk and June stands behind her. The Duchess remains standing, never breaking eye contact with Annie. Outside the door, Annie hears the low murmur of the Duchess’ entourage and her sailors circling each other like sharks waiting for a ship to sink.

“We thank you for hosting us--” the secretary begins. 

“Cut the bullshit.” Annie states, “Tell me what the fuck ya want so I can tell y’all to piss off.”

The secretary scowls but the Duchess smiles sweetly. “We are not here for our own affairs but that of the Seelie Court.” Duchess Candace says.

Annie frowns. In her experience, Seelie smiles are far more dangerous than the knives behind their backs.

The secretary reaches within her jacket and produces a bulging envelope, which she places on the desk. The envelope is made of paper wrinkled and stained to look like old-fashioned parchment. Sealing it shut is a golden wax seal bearing the symbol of the Sheba dynasty: a two-headed beast with a lion and wolf’s head. Annie can’t detect anything magical about the envelope but just to be on the safe side, she handles it with a handkerchief from her desk. Keeping her fingers covered, Annie opens it.

Inside is a leather booklet filled with identification papers in Seelie and Unseelie language and a painted lithograph. Along with the papers is a card scrawled with sigils and leaking magic to charm humans who ask too many questions.

“You bunch are assuming a lot if you’re giving me this.” Annie says, “I’ve been out the merc game for more than a century. I’m just a humble casino owner now.”

“If that was entirely true, you would have conceded the fight to Torii rather than risk your livelihood.” the Duchess says, “It is obvious to us that you are no tame killer whale having accepted life in a humble aquarium.”

The Duchess’ gaze is unyielding. Annie questions if the fae doesn’t blink or if it’s a glamour.

“What we say now comes from the mouth of King Sheba, for only my cousin trusts me with such precious information.” the Duchess continues, “A week ago, a tribute containing a cache of money and goods was to be delivered to a gateway in Hartford, Connecticut. However, the tribute has gone missing along with its courtier, William Conray. The court mages have faced exceeding difficulty tracking Conray. Her Majesty believes Conray intends to flee to the Southern territories, as it is a place of familiar to him.”

“Sheba’s got legionnaires at her beck an’ call. Why can’t they get Conray?”

“Her Majesty wishes for the legionnaires to maintain focus on local issues, as there have been rising concerns within the Court on the matters of rampant smuggling and drug abuse within our communities. Her Majesty also wishes for this matter to stay private. The cache Conray stole was to be delivered to an important consultant in Vow-of-Bliss. Time is of the essence in regards to retrieving it.”

Meaning that the cache had been intended for one of Sheba’s political friends on the fae homeworld intended as a bribe or payoff.

Annie looks at the painted lithograph. The man has ruddy, sun-burnt skin common to men who spend their lives toiling the fields. He can’t be older than thirty and is wearing a gold-on-black jacket typical of Seelie courtiers. There’s also no hint of inhumanity to him: no horns, pointed eyes, or odd skin.

“Hold up. _This_ is William Conray?” Annie asks.

“Yes. What you hold is one of the few remaining lithographs of him.”

“He’s human.”

“Formerly.” the secretary corrects, “Like you, he has eaten enough of our food to have transitioned. He has served the Seelie Court for more than a century and has not faltered in his duties.”

“Until now.” Annie snorts, “What happened to the rest of his stuff?”

“Prior to his betrayal, Conray destroyed his private apartment. Originally the blaze had been thought to be an accident. Now we know better.” The Duchess says, “What little remains of his personal items were used in tracking but the mages have been unsuccessful.”

Annie isn’t surprised at their lack of success. Former humans don’t have enough magic in their system for easy tracking. Like lowlies, they can fall right off the map.

“We need Conray within a week,” the secretary continues, “We want Conray alive but if he dies, then just the head will suffice. Most important is the cache he stole--”

“No.” Annie pushes the identification papers and the lithograph toward them.

“No?” asks the secretary. The Duchess purses her lips but remains blank-faced.

“Call me old fashioned but this whole thing stinks like a wet dog an’ a pig fucking in a tar pit.” Annie says, “Stealing on a whim is one thing but burning bridges like this is a planned action. Conray’s defecting or he’s got a grudge. Either way, I ain’t hauling ass around the country for Sheba’s hush money. An’ like I said earlier, I’m retired. Get one of ‘em Unseelie mercs if this is so important to ‘Her Highness’ I’m sure some of ‘em got lowly blood. Should know all about tracking the untrackables.”

The secretary inhales sharply but retains her rigid posture. The Duchess’ eyes narrow but the mask immediately returns with the placating smile.

“I see.” Duchess Candace crosses her hands. Her fingers curl around one of her rings, twisting it. “How unfortunate for you, Keelboater Annie, that I cannot take ‘no’ for an answer when it comes to my cousin.”

The magic hits Annie before her mind comprehends what’s happening. The sensation of magic is rarely universal but the spells that just went off give the air a sharp tang like blood. Vibrations pulse in two different directions, rattling the fillings in Annie’s teeth. Space is being rent by spells strong enough for even Annie’s dull sense to pick up.

Annie leaps over the desk. She swings her cutlass at the Duchess’ throat, but Indrid moves in front. The Unseelie blocks the blade with a gloved hand. Indrid doesn’t bleed. He doesn’t even flinch. His face is still and indifferent. 

Annie grinds her teeth. The cutlass is old but should have cut off a man’s fingers with ease.

“What did you do?” Annie demands.

“As we said before this is a dire situation for the Seelie.” the Duchess continues, “For the time being, we have placed two of your children in our protective custody to ensure your cooperation.”

There is a flicker in the Duchess’ mask. It’s brief but Annie can’t ignore it once she sees it. Is it uncertainty? Guilt? Annie isn’t sure before the mask returns.

“Outta my way!” Annie snarls.

Annie swings the cutlass again but Indrid remains steadfast. He uses his gloved hands to push and knock away the blade. Magic sparks off his fingers and churns around him, coating him in the conjuration that prevents injury.

The door breaks open and Annie’s sailors and Seelie bodyguards struggle to move in. Cries of “Protect the captain!” and “Protect the Duchess!” in English and Seelie fill the room. The Duchess is pushed to back as her entourage form a wall around her and Annie’s sailors crowd around her desk.

“They’ve tricked us, captain!” says a sailor, “We’ve word from the rest of the fleet: they’ve grabbed our girls October and December. Their boats are empty. Ransacked.”

Annie’s hand trembles but the grip on her cutlass is tighter than death.

“Think carefully about your next action, Keelboater Annie,” the Duchess says, “for the galaxy is large and chaotic. It would be very easy to lose two people in it.”

Annie thinks of October’s boisterous laugh and December’s awful poetry. There is murder in her heart and the growing flame in her chest cries for destruction…but that can’t be done. Not without destroying the lives of everyone else in her employ. 

Annie lowers her cutlass.

“Just a week?” Annie mutters.

“Once you have located Conray, bring him to Martha’s Vineyard where the imperial ship the _Truelove_ will be waiting.” the secretary says.

“I’ll do it,” Annie says, “now get the fuck off my boat.”

 

* * *

 

 

The Duchess and her retinue clear out quickly, leaving their money and bitter words with the _Grand Courser._ Annie’s children, her sailors, whores, and concubines want to gather in the captain’s cabin to rant, rave, and scheme against the Seelie but Annie sends them away. They’re too hungry for blood and unwilling to balance it with common sense.

Annie looks out the window of the captain’s cabin. The waters of the Atlantic are dark and still as time eases closer to midnight. June stands in the doorway, wringing his hands.

“Mother,” June says, “I…I don’t know what to say. Had I know what would happen…I would have…”

Annie walks to her desk and opens a drawer, unearthing a key buried in old papers and candy wrappers. She unlocks the bottom drawer and works to yank it out, placing it on the desk. The smell of must fills the air as Annie rifles through the contents. She takes off what remains of her dress, exchanging it for the simple shirt and double-breasted greatcoat folded in the drawer. She tugs on the pants, boots, and then looks at the two items on the drawer bottom.

There is a Kentucky rifle with a stock made of brass and silver and the cheek piece decorated with a six-pointed brass star. Next to it is a huge cutlass, resembling a slab of metal with a pommel attached rather than a traditional weapon.

June’s eyes widen when he sees the drawer contents. 

“Is that Bang-All and Cut-All?” When Annie does not answer, he mutters, “You really _did_ keep them.”  

Annie loads the rifle with bullets left in the drawer and slides the cutlass in its sheath. Annie walks to the door but June blocks her exit.  

“Mother, this is my fault.” June says, “Let me do this--”

“No.” Annie answers and easily pushes her son out of her path.

June frowns and follows his mother down the hall. “I can fight as well! I may not always hunger for battle but I can--”

“You ever hunt a man like a beast?” Annie asks, “Ever hold someone’s face to the fire to get ‘em to squeal? Ever bite off a man’s ear for giving ya guff? Ever beat a man to death ‘cause he tried selling ya back into slavery?”

“I-I’ve done one of those things.” June says, voice tight, “You _know_ I’ve done it.”

Annie stops and turns to look at her son. “But could ya do it again? _Would_ ya do it again?”

“Should you?” June asks, “Mother, even if you find Conray, there’s no guarantee the Seelie will return October and December. This is just one of the links in a chain of favors.”

“I know.”

“Then we should think of an alternative. There has to be another way to get them back.”

Annie shakes her head. “Seelie expect trickery on our part, what with us being pirates and all. They won’t expect me to bring Conray straight up and that’s where we’ll get ‘em.” She opens the door to the deck. “Right now, I aim to snuff out the traitor that’s told these Seelie where my girls are and how to get ‘em.”

Annie knows herself to be a drunken pirate but she also knows her children. October is prone to mischief and this wouldn’t be her first getting grabbed and having to untangle herself from trouble. December is…different. Her shyness causes her to prefer the dark comforts of her boat and those wanting fortunes or communing have to seek her out. In order to grab December, someone would have to go to her boat _and_ know she wasn’t entertaining a client at that time.

And if there had been such a danger to the family, May would have foreseen it.

Annie stands on the deck, gazing at the fleet. The sailors have already tied October and December’s boats to the _Grand Courser_ to keep them from drifting off. Annie has to move to the southern end of the ship to catch sight of May’s boat, the _Starlight._ The _Starlight_ is a large, metal monstrosity of a steamboat with polished brass railings and silver interlace on its sides. Acolyte monks pace the deck, sweeping off salt and muttering their devotions.

Annie takes a running jump and lands on the _Starlight_ in one leap _._ The acolytes are startled, unsure whether to bow, pray, or continue their tasks. Annie doesn’t bother with courtesy and pushes past them, walking to the cabin door. She swings it open and mist pours out, flooding the air with the stink of incense and magic. Annie’s head swims and her skin tingles but she fights every urge to retch. She inhales her last bit of clean air before delving into the ship.

Pipes whistle and hiss in the near-darkness of the _Starlight’s_ interior. The only light is provided by the massive boilers painting everything in a hellish red glow. Gas-mask-wearing acolytes polish the floor and pour herbs into censers. In the center of the large cabin is a curtained bed encircled by elite monks. The elite monks are uniformly thin and bald, having replaced one or more limbs with a brass and steel monstrosity. They breathe slowly, exhaling incense in their deep meditation.

The incense is more powerful within the cabin. Annie’s vision blurs but she slaps her face, fighting against the thick aroma.

“May! Wake the fuck up!” Annie shouts.

Acolytes crowd Annie, frantically waving their arms.

“Station Master, please! The Conductor sleeps!” says one.

“Even as we speak, she guides the Gospel Train along its tracks--” pleads another.

“I don’t give a shit!” Annie shoves an acolyte into a censer and approaches the curtained bed. The elite monks remain still, unmoving in their meditation.

Annie yanks the curtains aside and looks down at her daughter. May lies propped on a pile of pillows, eyes shut and lulled into dreaming by the incense. Annie lifts her daughter by the shoulders and roughly shakes her.

“Rise an’ shine, girl! Mama’s gotta have a talk with ya!” Annie says. May remains limp as a ragdoll. Drool runs from her mouth. “What in the fuck?”

“The Conductor!” an acolyte gasps behind Annie, “She is… _drugged_!”

Another acolyte shakes an elite monk, only for them to fall over without response. “They’re all drugged!”

Fingers trembling, a third acolyte yanks off their gas mask. Their face is tattooed with a blueprint pattern and dirtied with soot from the boilers. The unmasked acolyte approaches the fallen censer and sniff its smoldering contents.

“This is not our mix,” they mutter. The acolyte looks to their compatriots, “Summon the guards! Purge the incense! We have a traitor in our midst! Shut it down! _Shut it down!”_

With shouts of _“Shut it down! Shut it down!”_ the monks move quickly into action. They douse the censer with water, turning on fans to vent the incense from the cabin, and dumping the tainted mix overboard. Larger and more muscular monks enter the cabin, blocking the doors and preventing anyone from entering or exiting. Another team of acolytes work to revive the elite monks and May using fans and prayers. The monks work in organized tandem like ants protecting the nest and all Annie can do is observe. Despite a half hour of cooperative work, only one of the elite monks can be roused from the drugged sleep.

“We are indeed betrayed.” coughs the elite monk, who is a shriveled old woman with polished goggles and metal arms. “I felt trapped under the influence of the tainted mist and prayed aid would come. For this, we thank you, Station Master. Now, we must interrogate which one of the acolytes betrayed us during our time of meditation. It may be long and tedious but we shall surely root out the traitor--”

“I’m on a time limit, baldie.” Annie looks at the crowd of acolytes sitting in the corner of the room. The guards have already rounded up the possible suspects pertaining to those that tend the censers.

Annie hefts her rifle, aiming it at the suspected acolytes.

“Alright, ya steampunk loving fucks!” Annie barks, “O _ne_ of ya drugged my baby girl! Come forward an’ I _won’t_ start shooting.”

“W-what are you doing?” stammers the elite monk. 

Annie rolls her eyes. “Solving a problem. _Duh_.”

The suspected acolytes remain silent. With the gas masks on, Annie can’t tell what emotions are going through their head but _one_ of them must be feeling afraid. She steps closer to them, pressing the gun barrel against an acolytes’ forehead.  

“I _ain’t_ joking!” Annie shouts, “My girls are gone an’ Sunfolk bitch’s got me by the balls! Y’all got ‘til the count of three to fess up!” The acolyte doesn’t respond and Annie steps back. She keeps her gun on the unflinching acolytes. “One!”

The acolytes remain silent.

“Two!”

One of the acolytes whispers a prayer.

“Three--”

An acolyte at the very end of the group darts away. They stumble over their robes in a haphazard gait. Annie aims her rifle without even looking away from the remaining acolytes.

_Bang!_

The acolyte falls to the ground with a scream. Unlike in the movies, blood doesn’t gush onto the floor. It’s the bullet’s sudden impact and pain of the gunshot that stops the acolyte in their tracks rather than immediate hemorrhaging.

Annie moves in close, holding her gun to the acolyte’s temple. The acolyte sobs, holding their injured shoulder as tears run down their face. The color drains from their soot-encrusted skin and robes, uncovering scribbled sticky notes placed on their body. Their skin crinkles like old paper during a rainstorm. Magic leaks from the imposter, exposing July on the floor wearing nothing but a black slip and sticky notes clinging to her skin. 

The sight startles Annie but she keeps her rifle aimed at July. For all she knows, this could be a glamour.

“What the hell did ya do to May?” she demands.

“You _hit_ me!” July howls, “I can’t believe you _hit_ me! I’m your _daughter_!”

 “I _barely_ hit ya,”Annie says, “now answer me!”

“I just made her sleep! That’s all!” July sobs, “It hurts! _I’m dying! You’ve killed me!”_

“I just _clipped_ ya--”

The wailing continues and Annie realizes that this is no glamour. Only July could sob loud enough to rattle windows.

 

* * *

 

 

The only thing that prevents the cultists from shoving July into a broiler is her relation to their Conductor. The cultists tend her shoulder wound with the bare minimum of care and bind her hands in a braided silver rope. Two guards station themselves on either side of July while the remaining acolytes continue their work of trying to revive the elite monks and May.

“You could have killed her!” June rails. The gunshot had brought him to the boat along with three of his sailors. They’re musicians but Annie knows people strong enough to lift pianos and tubas without breaking a sweat aren’t to be trifled with. “You know July’s not as strong as the rest of us!”

“She got _grazed,_ ” Annie clarifies, “an’ honestly I didn’t even know it was her. Thought it was some dickhead them Seelie hired or someone they bribed but…”

 _I never thought it to be my own kin,_ but Annie doesn’t have to say that. She looks to July, who is still sniffling in pain. Out of all her children, July had been the smallest and quietest—preferring the calm isolation of her boat and the books it held. Even teenage December had a few inches on her.

“Why’d ya do it?” Annie demands.

July refuses to look at her.

“Just ‘cause ya my kin don’t mean I won’t throw ya in the brig!” Annie says.

July clenches her teeth. “You think I’m _scared_ of the _brig_? That’s child’s play compared to what you could do but you _won’t_.”

Annie takes a threatening step toward her seventh child. “Wanna bet?”

June steps between his mother and sister. “Mother, this isn’t going to get us anywhere.” he states, “The longer we try to pry information out of her, the further away Conray gets.”

Annie curses but June has a point. Conray is— _was_ —a Seelie courtier, meaning he’s used to traveling long distances without breaking a sweat. If Annie has any hope of catching him before he disappears completely off the map, she has to move quickly.

“May, can you pinpoint Conray?” Annie asks, “Seelie mages can’t do it but ya always had a talent for the smaller blips on the radar.”

May is propped up in her bed with elite monks tending to her every need. Her eyes are half open, struggling with awareness as stimulant teas take effect and the tainted fog wanes. May matches her cult members in aesthetics: bronze goggles, silken ropes, gear-shaped jewelry, and steel ringlets on her braids. Her exposed brown skin is painted with the white lines of engine blueprints.

“The Conductor should rest.” says an elite monk, “She has been through much strain due to her sister’s treachery.”

“I am only fatigued…”May states. Her voice had always been distant and echoing even in a sealed room. With every syllable, a distant train whistles. “I am troubled only in my heart, for my sister’s betrayal has coiled about it like a collar.”

“Give me a break…” July mutters.

“In these extended days conducting the Gospel Train, I had felt the rumblings of danger upon the tracks but could not rouse myself to speak.” May continues, “Give me an item of Conray’s and I shall locate him to the best of my dampened ability.”

“I only got a single pict an’I need it,” Annie says.

May nods. “Then I shall be sure to return it to you.”

Annie passes the lithograph to an acolyte, who passes it to an elite monk and it eventually arrives in May’s hands. May stares at the lithograph and runs her bejeweled nail guards on its surface.

“Even looking at this picture, I feel Conray’s shoulders are weighed with the chains of restlessness that comes with living longer than a man should.” May says, “The disquiet in his soul has overflowed his mind, spilling over and taking to actions he knows are foolish. He runs ragged and wild like a mad dog, but knows he has come too far to stop.”

May tears off the bottom of the lithograph and passes it to the elite monks. The monks whisper over the torn paper before placing the shred in a pot of hot coals. The flame quickly destroys the shred and the residing smoke is wafted over to May with a large fan. May breathes it in and sinks into her pillow mound.

“Conray moves slowly with paranoia.” May mutters, “He sees the waters of the Atlantic. He wishes to move further south…”

May’s body heaves. She twists and turns, fighting through a spasm. The ship rocks and a train loudly whistles, unseen and echoing in the darkness.

“The Train speaks. The tracks rattle. There are others. Following Conray. Protecting him. A horror upon horror. I hear it now. The song so loud and the conjure too strange. _Ah_!”

May tosses on the bed. The elite monks pile onto the bed and grab their mistress’ arms, preventing her flailing limbs from injuring her body. May screams and the rattling tracks grow louder. June clings to the walls, preferring to endure the intense heat and light of the boilers than his sister’s seizure. After minutes of violent convulsions, the muscles in May’s body unwind and she lies limp.

“The Conductor sleeps.” an elite monk announces. 

“I-is it always like that?” June asks.

“It used to be a lot worse.” Annie sighs. She looks to June’s sailors. “Get a skiff ready. I’m heading out for Jersey tonight.”

“Jersey?” June asks, “What makes you think Conray’s in Jersey?”

“Conray was s’posed to be in Connecticut,” Annie says, “but he’s heading south. He’ll avoid New York—that’s Seelie central—but he can still see the Atlantic, so he’s not in Pennsylvania yet. That means he’s still on the coast: Jersey, Delaware, or Maryland. Jersey’s the best bet ‘cause of distance.”

June points to July. “And what about her? The brig?”

July is staring at May with eyes the size of dinner plates. Like most of her children, few have seen May in the full throes of one of her fits.

“No,” Annie says, “July comes with me.”

“What?” asks June.

 _“What?”_ asks July.

“Ya heard me.” Annie puts her hands on her hips, “Ya caused this mess an’ya gonna help me untangle it. Ya love Seelie so much? Well, ya gonna help me with their dirty work.”

July pales. “You can’t be serious. I’m not _like_ you, Mother. I’m not made for—well—the _outdoors_!”

“She raises a good point,” June says, “What July did was wrong but she’s not a frontiersman like you. She’d get lost in a small parking lot.”

“Hey!” July says.

“Well, you _would_!” June argues.

“All the more reason t’bring ya.” Annie answers, “Plus, I need someone to haul my gear around.” She nods to June’s sailors. “Take her to the skiff.”

“Hauling? _Gear_?” July struggles as the sailors grab her. The guards clear the way as they carry July off the boat. “Wait! This is cruel and unusual punishment! I changed my mind! I prefer the brig! Mother! _Mother, listen to me_ \-- _”_

July’s voice echoes as she’s hauled off like luggage. June sighs and follows his twin, loudly reassuring her that it won’t be as bad as she thinks. Annie shakes her head and prepares to follow the noise.

“Mother…” May whispers.

The goggles have been removed from May’s face. The white wax lines of blueprint patterns have been marred by sweat and her eyes have rolled into the back of her head. The elite monks stroke her hair and muscles, trying to soothe the girl.

A train whistles.

Annie drifts closer to the bed. “What is it, hun?”

“The crow…the mark of the crow…” May gasps, “I see the sign, I see the sign, Hail O the time draws nigh, Sign of the judgment…”

It’s nonsense to Annie’s ears but she nods. When May is like this, there’s little anyone can do for her but wait for the conjure to finish riding her body like a cowboy on a horse. With the train still whistling in her ears, Annie leaves the _Starlight’s_ cabin.


	4. New Jersey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discussion of slavery starts at "July slides into the passenger’s seat" and ends at "It would be more appropriate" -- V.

Word of Annie’s departure must have spread like wildfire throughout the staff cabins and break rooms because the _Grand Courser’_ s deck is crowded when she returns. The sailors from the different boats, loyal whores, and gamblers have gathered to see what’s occurring. Annie’s concubines stand among them, openly weeping and fretting their fate now that their master is leaving.

“Missy Annie not to forget us?” Golly whimpers.

Annie smiles and pats Golly on the head. “Never.”

The huli jing doesn’t look less concerned but Annie can’t spend the whole night reassuring her. Kaylee wraps her thin arms around Golly to offer what little comfort she can. Sam’s eyes are watery but November pats him on the shoulder. Out of all her children, November has the easiest time communicating with the non-English speaking concubines.

Annie moves from her concubines to inspect the prepared skiff. The skiff is already weighed down with two bags of gear. July is sitting at the bow with her hands still bound and glaring daggers at June, who stands the closest to the skiff. The sailors have at least placed July’s jacket over her shoulders so she won’t freeze from the oceanic chill.

“There’s food and supplies for ten days in case you need extra for trade and such.” June hands Annie a leather wallet and a small bag, “Here’s human cash and madstones, which is _not_ for whores _._ ”

Annie grins. “What kinda pirate d’ya take me for?”

“Just stating for the record,” June says.

Annie laughs and pats June on the head. “You’re alright, Junebug.”

She scans the faces in the crowd: meddlesome, curious, perturbed, and everyone else in-between. Annie doesn’t recognize most of them; not even the whores. The ones Annie knew personally must have retired or just fucked off for elsewhere in the five years she was absent. Annie doubts most of the onlookers even know who she _is_ aside from being someone important to their bosses.

“Alright, lads, ladies, an’ everybody else!” Annie says, “I’m off for a bit so it’s the same as always: June’s in charge an’ he knows what’s best. No mutinees, no bullshit, no bellyaching. Keep the ship in one piece an’ there won’t be hell to pay!”

There’s a loud cheer from the sailors, tears from the whores, and sad looks from the gamblers. Annie steps onto the skiff and two burly sailors lower her into the water. As soon as wood hits water, Annie grabs the paddles and starts rowing. She’s always been faster than any engine and found it easier to steer without it. Plus, it gives her time to think during the mindless task.

The skiff moves quickly, cutting across the water at a rapid pace. Annie squints at the sky, using the position of the fading moon to estimate her current location. Things are quiet until they pass Long Island. Annie turns the boat, turning the boat west toward the New Jersey shore. July—who has been angrily silent—lurches forward. In the increasing brightness of dawn, her face is tinged green.

“Hey, are ya gonna--”Annie asks.

July gags and leans over the edge of the boat, getting more of the vomit in the water.

“Are you _kidding_ me?” Annie groans, “Ya _seasick?_ Ya lived ya whole life on a _boat!_ ”

July spits and glares at the other woman. “Why do you think I spend all my time inside my own boat? I’ve always hated the sea.”

Annie sighs. They’re not even at New Jersey and she’s starting to regret her decision.

 

* * *

 

 

When you’re on a time limit, getting into New Jersey via the water is easier said than done. The coast has little hiccups of land leading into tourist traps and tolls. Annie steers clear of Seaside Heights and Long Beach Island, staying deep in the magic of fae properties as she steers toward the Great Bay. Once the skiff passes through the mouth of the Great Bay, Annie pauses in her rowing and rotates her burning muscle, grunting.

“Shit! I used to go _days_ rowing without a break. I’m outta shape.” Annie mutters.

July responds by rolling her eyes.

Annie opens one of the packs to assess what was packed. “Alright, July. First job: ya casting the net so we’ll have something for supper.”

“You must be joking.” July’s eyes follow the other boats traveling through the estuary. “Gods know what the humans have dumped into these waters and you want that to go in our _bodies_?”

“Girl, this is a wildlife preserve.” Annie says, “Humans get up in arms if ya caught dumping here. Eating’s here as good as it gets.”

Annie tosses a fishing net at July. The tangled net lands on the girl’s head, which July promptly rips off with her bound hands.

“I’m no use to you like this,” July says, “if you unbind me--”

“Not happening.” Annie rummages through the pack to see if her cigars were also packed, “Ya done chores while bound up when ya couldn’t keep ‘em li’l conjuring fingers to yaself. Doubt ya forgotten how.”

July grunts but starts untangling the net. Annie uncovers a fat cigar and matches amongst food rations wrapped in wax paper and two small blades. Annie fits the blades into her boots and lights the cigar. Annie inhales the sweet smoke, watching the cigar give off red mist.

Its not long before the water ripples and a marshmaid surfaces. The fae is mostly hair and huge tits, holding a gold pitcher in her webbed fingers.

“Madam!” she says, “Would you be interested in purchasing a magic pitcher? It purifies any water placed inside it.”

A marshman pops up on the other side, holding a necklace made of turtle bones and fish teeth. “Can I offer you a necklace to make you appear like anyone? Fool your friends!”

“Piss off.” July grunts.

Annie reaches inside her jacket and shows them the lithograph. “I’ll give you three madstones each if ya tell me if ya’ll seen this man ‘round these parts.”

The marshmaid’s eyes dilate. “Hm, not sure. A lot of people come this way...”

The marshman’s gills flutter. “Yes, a lot of courtiers too. Very busy time this is…”

Annie takes out two madstones and starts idly toying with them like marbles. “If its such a busy season, then maybe I should get a move on--”

“I do recall him! The face!” the marshmaid’s eyes are concentrated on the sight of the madstones, “Very pale man. Hurrying along. Wanted us to move him quickly.”

“Had something in his boat. A casket chained shut.” adds the marshman, “He wore a courtier’s uniform.”

“He said he was headed east. He wanted to know where the nearest place to eat was.”

“We pointed him up the Mullica and to the shore. There’s a diner not too far from there, called ‘Bandits’.”

Annie grins and tosses the madstones in the water. The coins skip across the water and the marsh people screech, chasing after it. While the two claw and bite to get at the money, Annie returns the lithograph to her pocket. 

July casts the net out from the boat and looks at the fighting marsh people. “Are they all so money hungry?” she asks.

“It’s their religion.” Annie says, “In the old days they could offer the seahags blood an’ sacrifice but Sheba ain’t having that. Now all they got t’offer their ancestors is all the shinies they can gather. The instincts to hoard hit some harder than others.” Then she picks up her paddles and returns to rowing.

The Great Bay is wide and busy, full of fish and animals going about their regular day. Annie estimates most of the animals in the sanctuary are lowlies in disguise as some of them seem far too intelligent and people-friendly to be true animals. Humans take pictures of the wetlands in their natural habitats while the magical barrier prevents them from seeing the selkies lounging on the rocks or the marsh people stalking turtles in the ponds.

July does not speak until the skiff reaches the end of the estuary and the beginning of the Mullica River.

“Why would Conray still wear his courtier uniform?” she asks, “He’s defecting. Wearing the uniform would make him stand out.”

“Few know Conray’s defecting. While it's kept hushed, that uniform keeps him protected.” Annie says, “Courtiers ain’t bothered by run-of-the-mill thugs an ’hunting fae won’t name him prey either.”

The Mullica is all twists and turns which returns the green to July’s face. Annie almost feels sorry for her but feels far sorrier when July almost vomits in the skiff. They’re both thankful when they bank on a rocky shore on the edge of a shallow forest. The sounds of traffic disrupt the wooded peace, reminding Annie that civilization is always around them. Annie paces the shore, observing the soft soil. She doesn’t look up from the ground until she finds what she’s looking for in the shadow of a hickory.

Boot prints. There are no tracks from the cache so it must be enchanted to be lighter than it appears. Annie follows the track’s pattern and moves past the trees to the road which winds out into a neighborhood.

Her next destination in mind, Annie returns to the skiff. She lifts a pack onto her shoulders and tosses the other at July. “Let’s move. Conray’s first stop ain’t far.”

July looks at the bulging pack and then her mother. “How do we know the marsh people were telling us the truth? Conray could have paid them to mislead us. We could be wasting time while he’s bargaining his way onto an Unseelie ship.”

“Conray’s stolen Sheba’s money. Working with him is an act of war.” Annie easily tears the branches off trees and rests it on the skiff. It's not a great covering but with her name and sigils marking the boat, thieves will think twice before snatching it. When she turns, she sees July hasn’t picked up the pack. “Ya arms broke now too?”

“I have an injured shoulder, no thanks to you.” July holds up her bound fingers. “And I can’t pick anything up with my hands like this. Honestly, strength has never been my strong point anyway. I’m only a tenth as strong as you. If you’d give me the map--”

“Ain’t no map an’ even if I had one, I ain’t letting ya fingers get near paper.”

“Then how do you expect me to grab this pack?”

July raises a fair point, which Annie quickly solves with some ingenuity. She picks up the second pack and wraps the straps around July’s chest. Once buckled and secured, Annie grins at the even more wrapped up July. 

“Problem solved.” Annie says.

July’s response is a scowl but follows Annie toward the road.

On the other side of the mediocre woods is a modern suburb displaying sights and sounds Annie hasn’t heard or seen in years: houses with two cars in the garage, trimmed lawns, and the loudest noise coming from the interstate in the far northwest. The early morning light casts everything in blue and the people walking the streets are human or fae returning to their homes or setting out for the next shift at work.

The widest road leads to the town’s meager industrial section. The buildings are squat and mostly painted white and the lots are covered in yellow-white sand. The businesses are sparse containing a boatyard, a yacht rental, a bar, and across from that a car rental. On top of the bar is the name _Bandits_ in neon with a stereotypical gun-toting bandito waving his weapon. The neon flickers with the threat of extinguishing completely. An ‘Open’ sign hangs off the dirty front door.

The bar air smells of stale alcohol with the undercurrent of sour milk. A homeless man messes with the jukebox while three employees chat over a round of pool. Two customers sit in the back, mulling over drinks and debating where they’ll crash next. The bar reeks of humanity but there’s something…else. Something that makes Annie’s nostrils itch.

An employee with long braids at July. “Hey, lady, no minors.” he says.

“I’m twenty-one, fool.” July grumbles.

“We’re not staying long.” Annie studies the employees. The other has frosted tips and brags about a trip to Atlantic City to a Hispanic woman with a tattooed throat and chest. The woman glances nervously at July and Annie and avoids eye contact.

 _Is she magic-sensitive?_ Annie wonders.

“We’re closing up.” says a man behind the bar.

Annie turns her attention to him. To human eyes, he’s no different from any bulky man. His employee must think he’s a disgraced wrestler or bodybuilder steadily who maintained his muscles but not his hairline. Annie’s eyes see an airplane gremlin letting the magic maintain his disguise. The gremlin keeps his back to Annie as he wipes down the bottles behind the counter.

“I’m looking for someone,” Annie says. Once the words fall from her lips, the homeless people and lingering customers are at attention. They move toward the exit as if a fire’s started, even shutting the door behind them. Annie doesn’t worry about it and slides up to the counter. She pulls out the lithograph. “Ya seen this man?”

The gremlin glances over his shoulder before returning to his bottle wiping. “Can’t help you.”

“Aw, not even a little?”

“People come and people go ‘cause of the highway. Ain’t my business asking where they headed.” The gremlin’s hands reach up for the upper row of decorative bottles.

Annie returns the lithograph to her pocket and rests her hands on her hips. “That sure is a shame. Guess I’ll just mosey on along my way--”

The gremlin knocks the bottles off the rack, seizing the shotgun hidden behind. The gremlin turns but he’s big and bulky—not nearly as fast as Annie. Annie swings Cut-All, striking the gun barrel. The shotgun clatters on the floor, knocked out of the gremlin’s hand.

The gremlin looks to Annie, looks to the fallen shotgun, the stricken expression on his employees’ faces, and then back to Annie. Annie points Cut-All’s tip to the gremlin’s throat.

“Alright…” the gremlin slowly raises his empty hands in the air, “…usually they say _not_ to bring a knife to a gunfight, but this is a weird situation.”

“Sure is,” Annie says.

“I don’t want no trouble.” the gremlin says, “I run a clean place and I don’t got nothing to do with that man--”

Annie grabs the gremlin’s ear before he can concoct another excuse. She slams his head into the bar, holding him down with all her strength. The gremlin snarls and struggles to get away but Annie keeps him pinned.

Annie rests her blade tip below the swell of his skull. “Fella, I do not have _time_ for ya bullshit.” she says, “My knife is exactly above a very important artery. I cut it an’ ya paralyzed for life.”

“Y-you don’t know that…” gasps the gremlin.

“Ya wanna risk it, flyboy?”

“Boss!” one of the employees yells.

“It’s alright!” the gremlin gasps, “I-its alright. Don’t call the cops. Don’t do _nothing_.”

“Where is he?” Annie demands.

“I can’t tell you! He’ll kill me--” the gremlin says.

“Mother.” July says. The young woman had been uninterested in the diatribe between the gremlin and Annie, keeping her focus on the employees. July points a bound hand to the Hispanic woman. “She knows.”

The Hispanic woman is trembling, but her eyes are too steely for fear. This is the kind of woman who has seen the insides of a prison and knows how to ride out fear for the hopes of survival.

Annie releases the gremlin and approaches the woman. She holds up the lithograph.

“Ya seen this man?” Annie asks.

The Hispanic woman swallows but nods. “Y-yes...”

“Rosa, keep your damn mouth shut!” The gremlin lifts his head and rubs at the blood running from his broken nose.

The woman swallows nervously but shakes her head. “I-its my mouth and I’ll do whatever the fuck I want with it!” she says, “I’ll tell you what you want…j-just not in here.” 

Annie wonders how much of the fae-side this woman can see. Has she seen her boss unfold his wings or seen the fangs hidden in his mouth? Was she beaten within an inch of her life and saw the ghouls linger near her corpse in the flashes before death? Or has she always been able to see but used drugs or alcohol to cope?

“Fine,” Annie says.

The back of the bar oversees the waterfront with the boatyard and yacht rental. The woman—Rosa—shifts from foot to foot but no longer hides her staring. Her attention is on July’s bound hands as her mind tries to piece together what it means. 

“Your man came in late last night. He was soaked to the core ‘cause of the storm.” Rosa says, “Thought he was another homeless dude at first but he took out money and ordered a big meal. Then he sat in the back and kept to himself. No one seemed to notice him but me and the boss. He just sat there and ate and ate, like he’d just got out of prison. He was halfway into his cheesecake when another guy came in and sat with him.”

“Another man? What’d he look like?”

“Thin. Pinched face. Red hair. I couldn’t hear everything they were saying ‘cause the bar had gotten loud but your guy seemed annoyed. Redheaded passed him something in a paper bag and said he’d have to ‘find his own way’. Your man was pissed but the redhead didn’t care and left. Then your guy finished his food, paid in cash, and asked me what the fastest way to Finn’s Point. After I told him, he talked out. I didn’t hear a car or nothing but he was definitely gone. I even checked out the window.”

 _Conray must be moving on foot or conjure,_ Annie considers but that’s a small detail. _Why would he be going to Finn’s Point?_ “There any reason your boss was so testy about giving up information?”

Rosa frowns. “The redhead guy comes to _Bandits_ every month to harass the boss. Boss told us not to worry about him but I can smell mafia a mile away. There’s something… _wrong_ about him too.” Her eyes narrow. “That guy, he’s like _you_ isn’t he? You’re not really humans. You’re just pretending.”

Rosa’s is that of tension; an expression Annie had seen in the faces of slaves and runaways mentally battling their fight and flight instincts. This is a woman who has stared down horror and knows better than to look away. She certainly has the second sight, but would she survive an encounter with the fae she’s bound to attract?

Annie asks her for directions to Finn’s Point Cemetery and pays her forty bucks. With her business at _Bandits_ done, Annie leaves the bar area and crosses the street for the car rental. July follows, watching the sky as dawn becomes early morning.

The car rental is 24 hours and maintained by a lizardman who doesn’t ask too many questions. Like every fae working among humans, he maintains the façade of false identification, credit cards, and histories that will lead to nowhere. The paperwork will exist but it will be filed away in the darkness of an ancient cabinet and forgotten. Humans eyes will glaze over staring at the papers and return them to the cabinet. Years later, the paper will be shredded as the people contained in it will neither exist nor will they matter. If there is anything of importance, the legionnaires will have rescued it long ago for their own files.

Annie picks out an SUV because she’s going to need something tough. The saleslizard brags about the machine, mentioning the latest model’s features: wide sunroof, AM/FM radio, and good fuel mileage. Once the papers are complete, the lizardman hands over the keys and returns to the rental building, leaving Annie and July in the parking lot.

Annie tosses her pack in the SUV’s rear seat and unstraps July to do the same with her pack.

“You should let me drive,” July says. It’s the first words she’s said since the bar.

“No way in hell.” Annie says, “For one thing, ya wrists are tied, an’ secondly, y’ain’t the one with the fake license.” Annie slams the trunk lid closed and moves to the driver’s door.

“When was the last time you drove?” July demands.

“Like, 1950? 1951? Somewhere around there.” Annie shrugs. “Cars can’t have changed _that_ much.” She opens the door and looks at the driver’s side. While she recognizes the steering wheel, the rest of the dashboard is a mess of knobs, buttons, and symbols. The hardest task is locating where the key is supposed to go.

July moves behind her mother. “Why would you bring me alone if you won’t let me _help?_ ”

“‘Cause ya’d be in more danger on the boat than ya would be here.” Annie turns, facing her daughter. “Ya think ya kin gonna forgive ya for what ya did? They’d find all sorts of ways to make ya life hell without me around telling them to cool it.”She looks back to the dashboard. “Anyway, ya can just tell me what’s what. Like, where do I put--”

“We’re wasting _time!”_ July insists, “Finn’s Point is at the Delaware, meaning Conray could be in Pennsylvania right now!”

Annie can’t refute July’s concern. New Jersey and Pennsylvania are nestled right next to each other with the wide river between. From Rosa’s description, Conray had a destination in mind for his defection. He’s moving quickly while Annie is still playing catch up.

Annie exhales. “I’ll trust you if ya tell me how them Seelie bought ya off.” 

July gives her mother a long stare. Annie stares back, challenging her daughter. July is the first to look away, staring at the rocky ground of the car rental lot.

“What I thought. So get in, already.” Annie says.

July—still glaring at her mother—trudges to the other side of the car. Annie sits in the passenger’s seat and gives the steering wheel an experimental tug, judging how much force to apply.

July slides into the passenger’s seat and slams the door. “I hope you’re aware of the irony.” she says, “The famous Annie Christmas drags her own daughter around like a runaway slave. How do you--”

_Crack._

Annie’s fingers have crushed the plastic wheel like paper. July goes still, expecting a slap to the face for her words. Instead, Annie takes a deep breath and slowly pries her hand off the wheel. 

“No.” Annie says, “Ya _don’t_ get to say that. Ya _don’t_ get to judge me ‘cause of ya messes. What kinda girl gives up her own sisters to Seelie? An’ what do ya know of slavery, girl? What do ya know of long days spent laboring in the fields under the yoke of cruel men? What do ya know of seeing good men lynched an’ hearing ya mother an’ sisters raped? What would ya know of running ‘cause that’s _all_ ya can do?”

July swallows.

“Nothing.” she whispers.

“Ya know what miracles them fae can do.”Annie says, “Fae got immortality an’ food and parties that never end, but ain’t one of them ever lift a ringed finger to help no slave. An’ at the end of the day, that’s all ya is to them: the child of a human slave.”

July is silent but Annie isn’t relieved by her daughter’s sudden restraint. Silence from July means the girl is still thinking—perhaps still plotting betrayal or escape.Annie files away that concern for later as she finally locates the ignition. The dashboard lights up and the radio blasts pop music Annie has only heard diluted through static-filled radios on the _Grand Courser_.

 _Another gate to the modern world opens,_ Annie thinks.

 

* * *

 

 

It would be more appropriate for the mood if the car ride was silent, but neither Annie nor July have that luxury. Within thirty minutes of travel, Annie cuts off two cursing drivers and turns on the high beams. In the interest of mutual self-preservation, mother and daughter work together to decipher the car’s dashboard—which buttons to press, what dials to turn, and when to leave everything alone. They pull onto the interstate, leaving behind the small towns and entering the endless concrete pathway. 

The morning eases onward, shifting the sky from bright blue to a tumultuous dark. Rain follows, pelting the SUV with fat droplets and marring the road with fog. The SUV braces through the limited visibility, leaving the interstate and returning to the regular roads. Annie finds a small road enclave to park the car for lunch. Annie and July remain in the car while unpacking their rations: dried fruit, dried sausage, cheese, and August’s special herbal bread.

July chews quietly and watches the traffic. Cars race on the wet gravel with humans in Fords and fae in their decorated monstrosities hidden by magic. Despite the two accidents on the road, no one bothers slowing down. Annie has the driver’s window cracked open, letting the cool mist of autumn rain fade in.

“It was sunny just a while ago and now there’s rain? Something ain’t right.” Annie mutters.

“I…” July begins and then stops. She finishes a dried apple slice and continues, “I didn’t know they would take December and May. My contact told me to make meeting with you possible. I knew that if they approached, May would warn you so I changed her incense. When I realized what happened, I went back. I…I was _trying_ to wake her up.”

That would explain why July was there the night Annie had uncovered her scheme. A smart swindler would have run as soon as their schemes were uncovered. Then again, July had never been one for smarts—just making mischief that bites her in the ass.

“How’d you do it in the first place?”

July frowns. “One of the acolytes…we had a thing going on. It was easy to swap places with her. I’m sure they’ll find her on my boat and punish accordingly.”

Annie won’t bother explaining how fond May’s cult is of traitors. July’s accomplice will be lucky if they aren’t gifted a pair of red-hot iron shoes and forced to dance. “Why’d ya do it? Ya in debt with the gold bitch?”

“No…” but July crinkles the wax paper her meager meal had been wrapped in.

“Then, is it a boy? A girl?”

July remains silent. Annie considers that this is all the information she’s going to get out of July before the girl mumbles, “A girl. A human girl.”

“Oh.” Annie pauses, frowns. “ _Oh._ ”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” July is looking out the window at the trees lining the roadside enclave. “I’m old enough to be her grandmother. Hell, her _great_ - _grandmother_. She’ll die before I even get a gray hair. But—before I _really_ thought about it—I wondered if a fae could become human. Considering how humans can become fae, then…”

July trails off but Annie hears the question lingering at the end of her statement. Annie shakes her head and rests a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

“Hun, I’ve been down that road. Hell, _everyone_ like us walks that road…but that road only goes one way.” Annie says, “My Mama used to say once ya turn ya back on the Lord, He don’t want ya disgrace. Every fae born a human knows there’s only one way out an’ that’s walking with ya Death into the colorless lands.”

“You don’t know that.” July whispers but her voice shakes. “The Seelie have their own libraries, their own secrets. There might be a way…”

Annie has no answer because July knows well about the nature of death. She has nothing to offer July so she repacks the food and starts up the engine again.

The rest of the drive is silent and soggy with the noise of the rain drowning out the radio. The SUV passes by long stretches of green trees and more towns before entering Fort Mott State Park. Annie only recalls the lands when they were a battleground between the North and South. Now the territory has been remade for the modern military with barbed wire and surveillance cameras. The only evidence of the past are displayed on signs informing visitors of the area’s historicity.

There’s no entry fee for drivers so the drive continues. Isolated pockets of magic wash over Annie disguising the fae residing in the state park: clusters of trees conceal knook burrows, the skies hide jersey devils, and the swampy grounds belong solely to marsh people and waterhorses. A mile down the road and closer to the isolated spot of Finn’s Point, Annie sees an unfamiliar sight: police cars parked outside the cemetery gate.

“A patrol?” July asks.

The two officers are standing outside the gate and holding umbrellas, meaning they’ve been there for a while. 

“Something else.” Annie says. She pulls her car to the side of the road and parks.

“Are they with us?” July asks.

One of the officers notices her pulling over and starts the walk toward them.

“They’re not in all black, so no.” Annie tugs on a loose silver string hanging from July’s bound wrist. The threads easily unwind and Annie tucks the string into her back pocket. “Don’t make me regret this,” she warns before stepping out the vehicle.

The air is still misty from the splattering rain. The officer—a dyspeptic-looking white man--kicks up water as he approaches Annie.

“Ma’am!” The officer says, “Ma’am, you can’t park there!”

“It’s fine. I’m here on business.” Annie shouts over the rain. Before the man demands what kind of business, she fishes out the Seelie paperwork and shows it to the man. “I’m with ya guys. Can ya tell me what’s going on?”

The officer looks at the papers and the magic snaps into place. His eyes glaze over and the spellwork woven into the material rearranges his memory, forcing his brain to fill in the gaps. Annie isn’t sure about all the particulars of magic but can guess what the officer is seeing. Maybe the Seelie papers tell the office that Annie is a plainclothes detective sent from another, more important station and that’s why he’s never seen her. Maybe Annie is a journalist with special permission. Whatever the magic says, the officer’s demeanor changes from hostile to  deferent.

“Alright, sorry about that.” the officer mutters, “Just on high alert right now. This way.”

Annie gives July a ‘follow me’ gesture and the two follow the officer. Past the cemetery, gate are two legionnaires in the modern uniform of black coats and shades with broad hats. The two are talking among themselves, giving off an air of menace that keeps the other police officers at bay and remaining outside of the cemetery gate. Once the officer drops Annie off, he returns to patrolling outside the gate.

Annie approaches the legionnaires and flashes the Seelie papers. “What happened here?”

One legionnaire has the classic look of Unseelie—young, pale and hairless with blue eyeshadow—while the other is interracial with horns, bright green eyes, and skin like worn leather. They introduce themselves as Officers Bracken and Rainfoot while Annie introduces July and herself as mercenaries on the hunt. The legionnaires are more than accommodating and walk Annie and July to the far north section of the cemetery.

“There was a storm last night.” says Bracken, “Thought it was the weather being screwy again but our department mages picked up something odd. Sent two scouts. Didn’t get a response.”

“They sent us after that.” Rainfoot gestures to Bracken and himself. “That’s when we find our boys torn up, like something was gnawing at them, and then… _this._ ”

To say the northern section of the cemetery has been disturbed is putting it lightly. Thirteen graves have violently exploded from the ground—scattering wooden caskets, rocks, and roots. Tombstones have been thrown, smashing the stone wall encircling the cemetery. A stone obelisk has been toppled, taking three large trees with it and becoming a pile of broken stone, rusting screws, and metal shards. Aside from the isolated chaos, the cemetery is pristine.

“Anything unusual ‘bout these graves?” Annie asks, gesturing to the mess.

“Not sure. Not our department.” Bracken shrugs, “I know this is a national park for a human war, though I’m not sure which one. Maybe Revolutionary.”

Annie struggles not to roll her eyes. Fae seem to only understand local human history as consisting of the Revolutionary War and the small scuffles following that. “Looks like earth conjure was used here.”

Rainfoot nods. “Makes sense but we’re still IDing things at the station. Being stretched thing doesn’t help. Right now, we’re just keeping the humans from getting too close. PR may cook up a gas pipe explosion.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Annie sees July closely observing the rubble. The legionnaires exchange a look, unsure about how close to let July near the wreck.

“You said the weather’s been screwy?” Annie asks.

Bracken’s attention shifts from July. “You haven’t seen it?” he asks. 

“I’ve been out of the area until recently.”

“Weather’s been weird on both sides.” Rainfoot scratches his chin. “Human and fae been seeing a lot of rain and fog for the season. Add that to how shitty people drive and there’s been plenty of accidents.” 

“Plus, the dragon…” Bracken mutters.

Rainfoot rolls his eyes at his partner. “Enough with that conspiracy crap.”

July is still circling the rubble but Annie’s found something meaty. “I heard about a dragon.” she says, “Said it showed up in Massachusetts an’ burnt a junkyard to the ground.”

“It was just a fire.” Rainfoot folds his arms, “Stupid humans bury a bunch of garbage and get surprised when that noxious crap lights up.” Rainfoot fights to not curse as to maintain his professional integrity but his face reddens with irritation.

Bracken is another story. His eyes light up with eagerness as he says, “It wasn’t regular fire though! Only dragonfire is hot enough to cause that much destruction and not spread. You can tell from _The Local Chronicles’_ s pictures.” He shakes his head. “ _They_ want you to think everything is dead; that there’s no more elves, centaurs, dwarves, or gnomes in our lands but it’s not true! Not in the slightest! Its all coming back.”

Annie isn’t sure what ‘they’ exactly intends but for a conspiracy nut, that could mean from the aristocrats to potential shadow governments.

“It’s crap.” Rainfoot huffs in a manner that tells Annie this is an old argument, “ _The Local Chronicles’_ been a conspiracy rag since the ‘s and let’s say if _—_ and this is a _big-ass if_ —dragons were still around, where are they hiding? In fact, what are they _eating?_ Dumb lizards are three times the size of a truck. We’d _know_ if they were still alive and kicking.”

The legionnaires spiral off into their own argument, debating science, magic, dragon extinction, and species resurgence. None of the topics interest Annie in the slightest. _How many people know about the dragon?_ she wonders. Massachusetts isn’t far from New Jersey and it seems like the rumors are taking root. Has the entire country heard about the dragons by now? 

When July moves away from the rubble, Annie decides to take her leave. She thanks the officers for their help and exits the cemetery with her daughter. They say nothing until they’re in the car.

“Find anything interesting?” Annie asks, starting the car.

“A plaque is missing.” July says, “There were screws present which meant it was placed on the monument before it was destroyed. The graves were empty too and going by the way the earth was piled up, it meant something crawled out _._ ”

“Necromancy, then.” and that raises more questions. Local legionnaires place barrier spells on graveyards to alert the station to necromancy. A necromancer can’t set foot in a graveyard without an alarm going off. If necromancy happened at Finn’s Point, why didn’t the alarm go off? Secondly, how did Conray _acquire_ necromancy? Necromancy is advanced conjuration. A former human doesn’t have the skill to perform it, let alone the magic sensitivity. Could the redheaded man at the bar have something to do with this? Rosa said that he had given Conray a paper bag. Were the contents of the bag connected to necromancy then?

“Can ya piece together what the plaque said?” Annie asks.

“Maybe.” July says, “I’ll need paper though.”

Annie searches through a pack and uncovers a notepad and pen. July takes both items and stares at the paper. She twirls the pen around her left hand’s knuckles and shuts her eyes. The left hand that touched the rubble moves, snapping and scribbling recklessly. Ink scratches become embossed letters, as if July has derived a charcoal rubbing on memory alone. July’s fingers are smudged and stained with the pen’s cheap blue ink when she surrenders the paper to Annie.

 _“Confederate Soldiers who died…cannot now be individually identified.”_ Annie deciphers from the scrawling.

“Confederate?” July rubs her left hand, now painfully aching after the session of automatic writing, “Why were Confederates buried here? New Jersey was a Union state.”

“Prisoners of war, girl.” Annie hands the notepad back to July and pulls the SUV back onto the road, “During the war, Fort Delaware was one of the worst prisons around. Never went there myself but I heard plenty of tales ‘bout it. Looks like our man is hitting Confederate graves.”

July opens the glove compartment and pulls out a brochure of tourist traps and historical destinations. She flips through it as Annie drives down the road. She turns left, moving into another area of the national park. The SUV passes by a thick wall of trees, separating the park’s land from the Delaware River.

“What about Gettysburg?” July asks, “Isn’t that where one of the larger battles was?”

Gettysburg is one of the first and largest fae cities settled initially by Unseelie. In modern times, it’s become more biracial but considering how Sheba has maintained silence on Conray’s defection, no one is going to immediately rat Conray out. Hell, it may be easier for Conray to disappear in that city. Annie also doesn’t know her way around Gettysburg as she does in New Jersey. She’s only been to Gettysburg once and didn’t care for it.

“Gettysburg is two hours without traffic, and Conray’s head of us already.” Annie estimates.

“That give us enough time to plan an attack at least.”

“Our plan of attack is for me to shoot an’ ya to stay in the car.” July starts but Annie shakes her head, “July, ya wily but ya four foot nothing an’ got no muscles.”

“I’m still dangerous with a pen and paper.”

“An’ the ghouls’ll tear ya apart ‘fore ya can get a word in.”

July grumbles but can’t muster an argument against that. Annie keeps her mind on their next objective: getting to Gettysburg.


	5. Pennsylvania

The river’s edge is cluttered with marsh people, transforming the woods into a pop-up market. Annie and July can’t take two steps without being accosted by a marshmaid or marshman trying to sell them fresh fish, necklaces, purses, canned goods, and other found and shoplifted items. Annie pushes through the throng of would-be merchants and pays for the ferry resting at the riverbank. Once the fee is paid, a family of marsh people move the SUV onto the ferry and lock it into the place among the other passengers’ vehicles.

The ferry ride is brief. The passengers ignore Annie and July with most of them lowlies talking amongst themselves in their cant or exhausted migrant workers looking thrilled just to go home after another shift on the fae homeworld.

The ferry drops them off on a muddy riverbank, which is fine by Annie because this is the exact reason she has the SUV. Splattering mud and disturbing the wetland wildlife, Annie and July leave the river and enter onto the interstate. July finally finds a radio station worth listening to and Annie zones out, watching the far-off trees pass them by. The further they move from the city, the more the scenery becomes that of pavement, farmland, and trees.

And trees.

And other trees.

Annie looks at the clock. Its only been an hour but they’re still stuck seeing trees. Pennsylvania has always been a woodsy state but in the modern age, the woods are interrupted with towns at the least.

“July, where the fuck are we?” Annie asks.

July looks up from the tourist brochure. “We’re still on I-95. Look, we just passed that inn.”

The SUV passes a Red Roof Inn sitting off the highway. “I think we missed our stop. We should be hitting another town.”

July groans. “Let’s take an exit then.”

Annie steers the car to the exit, decelerating as it rides down the ramp. The SUV moves steadily…only for them to return to the interstate.

Annie blinks. She looks to the passenger side as the SUV passes the Red Roof Inn.

“What in the hell?” July says. 

The interstate is devoid of cars and the foggy weather is looking gloomier. The sky has darkened, splashing down more rain. Car engines rumble in the distance but Annie can’t see vehicles near them. Annie presses down on the gas rushing down the empty interstate and kicking up a mist of rainwater.

The Red Roof Inn passes them twice.

“This is some conjurer bullshit,” Annie growls.

“Behind us!” July says.

Annie looks to the rearview mirror. A black van is following them and behind it is a wall of dense fog and darkness, like clouds tainted by volcanic ash. The vehicle is too far away to discern who’s behind the wheel but Annie bets they’re up to nothing good.

“Take the wheel.” Annie orders.

“What?” July asks.

Annie abandons the wheel and reaches into the backseat. July curses as she scrambles over to the driver’s seat. Annie lifts Bang-All from the floor and checks the rifle for bullets. Then she slides the sunroof open. Rain splashes into the SUV, hitting Annie’s face. 

“Keep us moving!” Annie says.

July grips the steering wheel and frantically looks between the rearview mirror and the path ahead. The interstate is still a long repetitive structure but there’s still the hazard of the cement barriers dividing the lanes.

“They’re picking up!” July says.

The black van speeds forward, bringing the storm with it. Annie squeezes through the sunroof. It’s a tight fit but all she needs is her upper body and Bang-All exposed. The air stinks of exhaust and the cold wind scratches her face.

As the van moves closer, Annie can make out the front seat. A hulking, hairy man grips the steering wheel (which looks comically small in his massive hands). A shaggy bearskin is stapled to his face with the beast’s fangs hanging over his eyes. In the passenger’s seat is a man with a pinched face and a fox skin stapled to his face and body. The fox fae gives Annie a manic grin and his pupils are blown from conjured concentration. 

Annie has no idea what in the fuck is going on with these two but she’s certain she doesn’t _want_ to know. She aims Bang-All at the front right wheel and fires. 

The van swerves, letting the bullet take out a headlight. The fox fae laughs and holds up his hand, as if waving to Annie. The van backs up and the dark fog surges forward. Annie tries to slide back into the SUV but the fog washes over her.

Everything is damp and smells moldy in the fog. Entangled in the mist are ghosts wrapped in tattered white shrouds. They howl and wave their weapons: hacksaws, hooks, dental screws, and rusting swords. Annie’s finger is on Bang-All’s trigger but she can’t move. She stares into the shrouded faces.

Night doctors.

A night doctor floats toward Annie. Its bony fingers reach for her face, ready to shove fingers in her eye sockets. Adrenaline pours into Annie’s body, jolting her arms from shocked numbness. She squeezes the trigger and a thundercrack of gunshot quickly follows. The bullet tears through the night doctor’s side and the wraith screeches, flying back and rejoining the swarm. Other night doctors loom forward but Annie slides down. She shuts the sunroof and shakes her head.

“Nope.” Annie breathes.

“What in the hell?” July’s side mirrors offer only the fog and white wraiths.

“Nope. Nope. Fuck _this_!” Annie tries to control her breathing but its useless. She shuts her eyes, trying to think of something— _anything—_ besides those creatures.

The sides of the SUV screech. The night doctors slam their weapons against the metal, clawing at what’s inside. Annie’s heart pounds faster than the SUV, both racing in the trapped spatial loop. 

_Bang!_

Annie opens her eyes. A night doctor is ramming its sword pommel against the driver side window. Cobweb splinters spread in the glass, fighting against the impact. Cars have definitely evolved since Annie’s time but even she knows that window won’t stand for much more abuse.

Annie inhales. Exhales. She thinks of running through the woods as a barefoot slave then banishes that image. She’s not that child anymore and there’s no point indulging a past fear. Not now. Not ever.

“We need fire!” Annie says, “Lots of it!”

July looks at the notepad and pen which has fallen on the floor of the passenger side seat. “I need a moment,” she says.

“Ya got half of one!” Annie says.

July slides over to the passenger’s seat and Annie climbs into the driver’s side.

 “Then just buy me some time!” July grabs the notepad and the pen but only gouged the paper,  “Oh _come on!_ You can’t be out of _ink_ you stupid pen!”

_BANG!_

The driver’s window splinters. Fog floods into the SUV and a skeleton hand follows it. It grabs Annie’s shoulder and pulls at the fabric. Unfortunately for the night doctor (and fortunately for Annie), she’s much too large of a target to pull through the window hole. Annie grasps the brittle wrist instead. The night doctor’s hand has a rough texture, like moldy wood with torn leather clinging to it. The night doctor screams, slamming on the SUV and trying pulling away from Annie’s inhumanely strong grip.

“Oh, _now_ ya wanna leave? Nuh-uh, ya ghostly fuck!” Annie says, “Ya mess wit’ the bull, ya get the horns!”

With a powerful yank, the hand comes off. The night doctor flies away, mutilated and screaming. Annie grimaces and tosses the skeletal hand into the backseat. _Now_ _I’m going to have to burn_ my _hand to feel clean again,_ Annie grumbles.

A night doctor slams their hacksaw against the front window. After seeing their comrade’s hand amputated, the ghouls have realized that going into the SUV is the more dangerous option. The night doctors pile onto the front and side of the vehicle clouding up Annie’s vision with their tatters and fogged bodies.

“Piss off!” Annie yells.

Annie spins the wheel, swerving the SUV to the far right barrier. Her window is blocked off but every red-blooded American knows where the edges of the interstate are. The SUV rattles as it passes over the rumble strips and smacks into the interstate’s metal barriers. Sparks fly off the side as metal grinds against metal with the night doctors stuck between.

“Get fucked, ghosts!” Annie yells.

Ancient bones snap and shrouds tear as night doctors are crushed between the car and the barrier.  Those that don’t fly off are pulled under the massive wheels of the SUV.

“Got it!” July says. The air swells and pops with magic as ink finally flows from the cheap ballpoint pen. July quickly writes a single word--

**torch**

on the notepad. The paper twists, folding into the shape of an unlit oilcloth torch the same size as the notepad paper. July grabs the torch and tears off a small section of paper, writing--

**match**

on the piece, which becomes a single match. July wastes no time in lighting the torch and handing it to Annie.

“About fucking _time_!” Annie crows.

“Please tell me you’re not going to do—there she goes.” July sighs as she watches her mother climb out the sunroof.

The night doctor’s herd is thinning. The fog is ebbing and the washed blue of the overcast sky is partially visible. Annie grabs the SUV’s roof rack, pulling herself onto the roof. The car swerves from the barrier but Annie isn’t shaken. This is no different from braving the Lower Mississippi’s rapids of.

Annie brandishes the torch.

“Come an’ get me, ya undead fucks!” she screams.

The night doctors shriek but the fire frightens them more than Annie’s words. One of them races ahead, attempting to move around the fire and grab Annie. They receive a wallop to the jaw for their bravery. Annie’s knuckles shatter the skeleton jaw, knocking away the wraith. The others that come close get a taste of Cut-All slicing through their fabric.

“We got a problem!” July yells out the broken driver’s window. 

“What now?” A night doctor gets a lucky shot in with its hacksaw scraping her arm. Annie swings her blade across the top of its skull, severing it along with the fabric. Once free of the shroud, the night doctors screech and bumble like drunk flies.

“Gas is getting low!” July says, “We got maybe a half hour left! I told you we should have filled up!”

Annie punches another night doctor. “July, I’m busy punching zombies! Now’s not the time for I-told-ya-so’s!”

The fog is starting to lift just in time for the van to return to view. Annie estimates its forty feet away but as the night doctors disperse, it picks up speed. The fox fae is scowling and sweat is pouring down his face from the constant concentration.

“He’s _still_ going?” July gasps, “I’m getting a headache just conjuring that torch!”

The van is moving fast, closing in at twenty-five feet.

“Then _de_ conjure it,” Annie says. The moment she says it, the torch returns to paper.

Twenty feet.

“Cover me, girl!” Annie says.

July might have shouted “Huh?” or “Why?” but Annie doesn’t remain to hear it. She runs across the SUV’s roof and leaps off the edge. She rises in the air and swoops down with her feet extended in front of her. The fox fae looks surprised and then shouts to his bearskin companion. The van doesn’t move out the way as Annie’s feet smash through the windshield. Her boot slams into the bear fae’s face and chest.

The van careens to the side of the road. It smashes into the highway guardrail, which promptly snaps after the impact. The air rattles and Annie’s ears pop. Everything feels slow as the van tumbles off the interstate. The endless interstate evaporates, replaced by a rocky ditch and thick woodlands. The van rolls, falling onto its side.

Annie seizes the fox fae’s throat.

“Who sent ya?”Annie demands.

“Get da fuck offa me, woman!” yells the fox fae.

 _“Answer me!”_ Annie yells.

A broad hairy arm wraps grabs Annie’s shoulder. Unlike the night doctor, the bear fae’s arms are big as tree trunks and twice as strong. With one powerful yank, he pulls Annie off the smaller man. Annie shouts, grabbing Cut-All’s handle and attempting to yank it off her belt.

The fox fae coughs, holding his throat. “Take her out, Bear!” he wheezes.

The man grunts and punches the driver’s door with his free arm. The door flies off the hinges and the bear fae drags Annie out the van. The man falls onto the rocks and doesn’t so much of flinch. Annie stabs Cut-All into the man’s bare arm but the blade bounces off the thick flesh. The hairy man grunts, stumbling to his height and still grasping Annie. He lifts her off the ground, now squeezing down on her throat.

“This is conjuring _bullshit_!” Annie would say but as she’s being choked it comes out more like “Thass esh congak _bullshit_!”

Annie swings her legs, landing a hit on his groin. She digs in her heel but the man only sputters—not even bothered by the impact.

Tires screech. Rocks tumble. July shouts and then there’s the impact of over 5,000 pounds of force.

Annie goes flying as the SUV rams the hairy man from the side. Annie hits an oak, splinters the trunk, and slides onto the grass. Her vision goes blurry but it's not enough to break someone like Annie. She staggers to her feet, regaining her footing. SUV has knocked the hairy man to the ground, crushing him under its huge wheels. The bear fae is still moving through—snarling and clawing at the front fender like a rabid animal.

“Son of a bitch, ya one tough bastard.” Annie coughs.

The fox fae finally climbs out the van. Blood runs from his forehead and he’s still holding his throat. Enraged and mute, the fox fae points to Annie, promptly gives her thumbs down and hops onto the ground. Then his shape ripples and he disappears. Annie runs over but finds only missing rocks from his teleportation.

“M-Mother!” July gasps. The girl practically falls out the car and runs over to Annie. Tears run down her face, “Are you alright?”

Annie nods. “Bruised an’ choked but fine.”

July hugs the woman’s broad chest and then immediately starts beating Annie with her fist.  “ _What in the name o’gods is wrong wit ye? Ye kin’t just be jumpin’ offa car like that!”_

“Of course, I can. I just did it, girl.” Annie mutters. July’s hits may as well be pebbles in the ocean to her trained muscles. Her eyes are on the hairy man, who is still struggling to get from under the car.

“I _already_ lost me Da!” July sobs, “I doan wanna lose me Maw _too_!”

Annie looks at her daughter. Tears are still running down July’s face, turning it into a wet mess. It only reminds Annie of when July’s conjuration first manifested and she was so scared about accidentally cursing someone to death just by writing a single word.

Annie sighs and pats July on the head. “Hey, calm yaself. Ya know I’m tougher than any human. Even before I was fae, I was strong. Same as ya are.”

“I ain’t, I ain’t…” July wipes her running nose, “Just lookit me, Maw. I’m so short an’ miserable…”      

“Ya fine just the way you are, girl.” Annie says, “If it weren’t for ya, I’d be dead.” She looks at the SUV with its scraped side and shattered windows. “Don’t think we can drive in this anymore.”

July sniffs and straightens her posture. She wipes her glasses clean of salty tear-stains and looks to her mother. “No, not likely.”

Annie approaches the van and squats next to the hairy man. “Hey, asshole! Ya wanna make a deal?”

The hairy man turns his head and coughs up a mouthful of blood.  

“Listen, pal: I dunno what kinda conjure ya got going on but once ya stamina runs out, ya gonna get crushed like a bug.” Annie says, “Ya tell me what’s going on and I’ll make sure ya see a hospital.”

The hairy man squints. Underneath the maw of the bearskin, Annie can see the eyes of a haunted man. What little skin is available is crisscrossed with incision scars, as if a mad doctor has taken the scalpel to him time and time again. The scars are only interrupted by the brown-encrusted staples holding the bearskin to his body. Annie bets her last dollar that whatever is on the staples, it's not rust.

“It doan matter.” The hairy man gasps. He ceases his struggling, staring at the sky. “Ain’t no way yah can stop us now.”

“Stop who?” Annie asks.

“Daddy Jack!” the hairy man spits out more blood, “Most powerful conjurer there is. He gonna make us all free.”

“He sure as hell did a number on ya.” Annie mutters, “Where’s Conray?”

“Going to Daddy Jack. Him and Brer Fox.” The hairy man’s teeth clenches. “It too late. Yah never stop it--”

The man’s eyes roll into the back of his head. The wheel sinks into his chest with a sickening _crunch._ July flinches from the sound but doesn’t look away.

Annie shakes her head. “There but for the grace of God.”

“Did he say…Brer Fox?” July asks, “Like in the stories?”

“Say what now?” Annie rises from the ground and scans the road. With the spatial loop broken, they’re traveled off the main hub of the interstate and onto a small highway.

July tilts her head. “You don’t know about Brer Fox and Brer Rabbit?” Annie stares at her. “Mother, you’re from the _South_!”

“Spent most of my time in the South trying not to _die_ girl. Didn’t have time for no stories.” Annie snorts. The highway doesn’t have much traffic but anyone looking over to the side would notice the crash. The conjuration must have popped up on the local mage’s radar as well. “Let’s get going.”

“Going?” Before July can protest, Annie opens the SUV ‘s back door. Annie pulls out the packs and tosses one to her daughter. Then with a shove, she moves the car off the crushed man.

“We don’t got time for legionnaire questions. Check their car.” Annie says.

July sighs and goes to the van. Being raised with pirates has taught her how to quickly sift through someone’s belongings. She exits the van with a backpack and returns to her mother.

“Where are we going? We’re hours from Gettysburg.” July says.

“Ain’t worried about that now, girl. Let’s put distance between this place and us.”

“But you’re bleeding!” July says.

“I can still walk.” Annie has already marched headlong into the woods, leaving the highway behind. July huffs but follows her mother, grumbling.

 

* * *

 

 

Experience has taught Annie that civilization is never far from a highway. Annie and July take twenty minutes to cross the barrier of woods and come upon a road, leading them to a cluttered shopping plaza: a gas station, several restaurants, and hotels of varying quality. Annie heads for the motel with the fizzled-out neon sign and mostly-dirt parking lot and purchase a room using the same phony credit card they used at the car rental. The human employee doesn’t bat an eye at Annie’s battered state. Once in the room, Annie removes her torn shirt and pants. There’s no severe damage—just the cosmetic annoyances of bleeding scrapes and large bruises.

“Only _you_ would need to be packed for a trip with medical supplies.” July sighs as she bandages her mother.

“This ain’t no dainty vacation, girl.” Annie pulls a bottle of whiskey from one of the packs and pops out the cork. She chugs while July continues with the first aid. “Tell me ‘bout this ‘Brer Fox’.”

“He’s a character from _Uncle Remus_.” July says, “He’s always crafty and using Brer Bear to do his dirty work while they try to catch Brer Rabbit. Daddy Jack’s an _Uncle Remus_ character as well, typically cast as a villain.” She pauses before laying down another bandage. “I honestly thought you would know them better than me. They’re Southern tales.”

“Maybe it was tales from house slaves, considering I was in the field.” Annie grunts, “All I know is that these fucks have taken up some bad conjure.”

July nods. “Necromancy.”

“Fucking _night doctors_.” Annie’s heart pounds just thinking about those skeletonized bastards. The adrenaline thrill of beating the ghouls has worn off. Reality returns and she rubs her face, breathing slowly.

“You were scared when you saw them.” Annie doesn’t answer and July presses, “What are they? I’ve never seen them before.”

“Ya wouldn’t normally see ‘em out at sea, being that they’re earthly ghouls.” Annie says, “Back on the plantation, white folks would say that if slaves were to run off they would be hunted by ‘em. They’d take ya to dissecting halls an’ cut ya up while you still breathing. Worse part was…them night doctors in the old days were _real_ folk. Runaway hunters would dress like ‘em to kill us or they’d just be plain ol’ graverobbers that wouldn’t let a black man rest even after he done give up the ghost.”

Annie swallows. “Naw, it weren’t nothing special to be a night doctor in the old days. Ya just need to be a regular evil ol’ man who hated anybody darker than milk. After a bit—when all we freed folk thought that evil was done with ‘cause of the War of Rebellion—them bastards came back as ghouls. I s’pose evil like that don’t rest quietly in the earth.”

“So, they came _back_ after the Civil War then…” July ponders and asks, “Are these night doctors the original ones then?”

Annie thinks of the night she saw the clouds break apart and the night doctors flood out into the air and disappear. She had hoped it had just been a fluke. Now it was becoming a true nightmare.

“Ain’t no way.” she mutters, “The necromancer what raised them original night doctors had a sword put through ‘em long ago. These night doctors is shaped different too. Ain’t got burning crosses or nooses or horses either.” She thinks of the de-cloaked night doctors, flying around without a goal. “Whoever’s leash they on, they got ‘em on _tight_.”

“That fog…” July shudders. “It was laced with an evil conjure. Just breathing it in felt like sucking on razors. It pulled those bodies out the earth and puppets them to its evil purposes. Whoever this Daddy Jack is, his range of influence is far. Farther than any conjurer I’ve encountered.” She swallows, “And then there’s the matter of the animal skins stapled on those two fae. I’ve never seen anything like it...”

“Not even read ‘bout it?” 

“Well, there are some similarities between this and humans that wear animal skins for worship, but it never _stitched_ onto them and certainly not _stapled_. That, and I don’t think it was regular animal skin.”

“Well, there are some similarities between this and humans that wear animal skins for worship, but it never _stitched_ onto them and certainly not _stapled_. That, and I don’t think it was regular animal skin.”

“What makes you say that?”

July rubs her chin. “Well, just the size alone tells me it was fae skin that was removed. There’s no way a regular-sized fox skin would fit a man. Perhaps a bear would but it stank of evil magic as well.” Another pause and then, “Actually, this does remind me of something in particular. It’s a bit absurd though.”

Annie finishes the last of her drink and looks to her daughter.  “Girl, I spent the last hour punching the ghosts of old dead white guys. We _long_ past the point of absurd.”

July nods. “True.” she says, “It’s just all this conversation about attaching things to bodies has me thinking on when father would read us _Peter Pan._ I recall Wendy sewing Peter’s shadow onto his body so he could fly to Neverland. When you think about it, the animal part of the fae is like Peter’s shadow. It is a physical thing that is a part of them and yet they can be separated. If you take a lowly’s skin, they’re good as human until it grows back. The same goes for Peter’s shadow.”

“Ya supposing this Daddy Jack takes skins fae an’ puts it on others?” Annie scratches her head. “Can ya even _do_ that?”

“I don’t know.” July sighs, “Oh, what I wouldn’t give to have December here. She could have looked at the body and discerned the conjure.” Sadness crosses the girl’s face. It could be the frustration of being faced with an unknown enemy, or the fact that her sisters are missing has finally sunk in.

Annie sits up and the fresh bandages rub against her skin. “Alright, I’m as patched up as I’m ever gonna be. Let’s hit the Waffle House ‘fore we take off.”

“You want to eat at a time like this?”

Annie grins. “There any better time?”

Annie redresses while July goes through the found backpack, learning all she can about their pursuers. Then the two women leave the motel, crossing the road toward a plaza cluttered with restaurants and other small businesses. In the early evening, the Waffle House is mostly empty with a single family in the far back and a strung-out looking man. Annie squeezes into a booth and makes her demands: triple-servings of hash browns smothered in cheese and onions, piles of eggs, a mountain of bacon, sausage, biscuits, and toast. Three waitresses work in tandem to bring out the meal while July is left nursing a black coffee and a single waffle.

“You act like we haven’t eaten in days,” July says. 

“An’ ya act like ya don’t know what a good meal is.” Annie dives into the mountain of hash browns with relish, “Used to _kill_ for a meal this good on the river.”

“We’re in a Waffle House. I don’t think this place has the same rustic charm as your riverside inns way back when.”

“Kinda the same level of charm really.” Annie inhales the hash browns and goes for the waffles. “Find anything interesting in that backpack?”

“A lot of traveling item: crossword puzzle, toll stubs, energy drinks, and a map.” July says, “The map had marks all over the place but most of them were in North Carolina.”

“Ya thinking that’s where the base is?”

“It's not our concern. We need to find Conray. The legionnaires can handle Daddy Jack.”

“But who’s gonna handle them night doctors? They’re a danger to regular folk an’ fae alike.”

“Yes, but December and October are counting on us to retrieve Conray first.”

Annie sighs. July is right but it doesn’t sit well with her letting a necromancer make corpse puppets out of anyone they choose to. The least she could do is put a bullet in his heart. It may not kill them but it’ll definitely annoy the hell out of them.

“Alright,” Annie mumbles, “let’s finish up here and steal a car.” 

Annie pays the waitress and tips them too much money for July’s preference. Annie studies the parking lot and finds a Jeep she thinks will be tough enough for the trip ahead. July studies the mark and model of the car before writing down **1991 Jeep Wrangler key** on a torn piece of paper and transfiguring the item.

“How long can ya keep a key summoned like that?” Annie asks.

“It’s small and stationary so it's not too much of a headache…for now.” July says.

July’s ingenuity at least prevents them from going through the additional rigmarole of renting another car that might be trashed. July takes care of the packing and driving on the way to Gettysburg. Annie settles into the passenger’s side and shuts her eyes. After such a large meal, exhaustion hits her without mercy. The rain pounds on the car in a steady rhythm, lulling her into a comfortable rest.

Annie sees the dark, ruined waters of Boston Harbor. Chunks of wood coast on the surface and the waves are only broken up by the shattered hull of several ships. The men on deck wail their sorrows, not willing to turn away from the sight. Some want revenge, vowing to hunt down the beast that has done this to Stormalong’s famed fleet. Others have already thrown themselves off the deck, preferring to bash their head on the sharp rocks rather than continue to live in a world without the last great pirate of the North. Not even the mermaids will touch the bodies.

“He was truly a king,” the sailors wail, “May he sleep amongst the best of them.”

There’s not a soul amongst the wreck. Everyone from the captain to the lowest man can’t be found whole—only fingers and slivers of bone that the beast took no interest in remain. Stormalong’s body can’t be found but they do find his silver wedding band on a rock.

“It's likely whatever attacked the ships, spat it out,” July says. His eyes are wet and his face distorted with sorrow.

Annie does not answer. She stares at the water, still wearing her bridal gown strung with pearls and a crown of prismatic flowers. The workers had prepared themselves for a grand yet private wedding ceremony and now they only look forward to a long funeral. They leave the deck to smother their sorrows in the ways sea-dwellers know best. 

It is not until midnight when Annie’s grief eases its claws and her muscles stir with a sudden, fervent energy. She shucks off her wedding dress, tossing it into the sea where the ocean quickly overtakes it. Wearing only baggy underclothes, Annie goes to her cabin and grabs all the money she’s squirreled away over the years. Then she returns to the deck, settles into a dingy, and descends into the water.

And then she rows.

Annie rows until the ship disappears from her vision and she’s in the middle of the ocean. No food. No water. No way out but death. She lies on the bottom of the boat and stares at the sky.

_Are you here for death?_

Annie sits up. She scans the water but she’s alone in every direction. The dinghy rocks and bubble splash, disturbing the surface. A white rock rises through the dark water. No, it’s not a rock. It’s the white prong of a gigantic deer antler. The deer head is the size of Annie’s ship and it’s white as fresh snow. Seawater runs from its brilliant green eyes. It stares at her and Annie sees the Adirondack Mountains in its eyes—every bog, every marsh, and every swamp in the taiga.

 _Find me,_ states the deer.

“No way.” Annie breathes, or she would have said if she wasn’t gaping at the titanic deer. She has no idea what it is but she has no intention of doing what it says.

The deer snorts a plume of sea mist.

 _Have it your way then,_ it sighs. The deer head submerges, disappearing into the dark water. Annie looks over the edge but there’s no sign of it.

“What even in the fuck?” Annie mutters.

Annie’s eyes snap open. She blinks repeatedly as her waking brain adjusts to her surroundings. The dashboard says 9:28PM, which means Annie has been sleeping for roughly an hour. July’s hands are on the wheel but sweat is running down her face. She looks like she’s been running a mile just keeping the Jeep’s key in shape.

“Ya gotta take a break, girl.” Annie yawns.

“I can go another hour,” July grumbles through the strain.

The Jeep passes through farmland and private estates, heading into a thick forest. “Why’re we taking the long way? There’s gotta be another interstate.”

“If that guy found us on the interstate, there could be others. We can get to Gettysburg tonight if I hold on.” The Jeep takes another turn through the woodland road and July loudly curses.

A regular human would only a see a black van parked next to a beat-up RV, but Annie and July see the flashing gold and silver lights of a legionnaire vehicle. The RV is colorfully painted with runes designating it a lowly caravan. Two lowly traders stand outside the RV, anxiously looking between themselves. One legionnaire is questioning the lowlies with a pen and pad out while the other remains close to the car with their hand resting on their holster.

“Park,” Annie says.

“We can go around. Its none of our--” July says.

“I ain’t gonna tell ya twice.”

July grumbles but parks the Jeep on the side of the road. Once she stops conjuring the key, every muscle in July’s body uncurls. Annie opens the door and steps out into the night air. It’s still raining and the woodsy road has turned completely muddy from it. Annie cracks her back and approaches the legionnaires.

“Evening, fellas!” Annie calls out.

The legionnaire with their hand on the gun frowns at Annie but doesn’t take his eyes off the lowlies. He’s young and anxious and Annie would bet her lost dollar on him never encountering lowlies until now but has heard all the stories of them being criminals. “Ma’am, we’re in the middle of something--”

“I noticed that and I’m sorry for intruding on ya,” Annie says and continues her approach. “Its just my daughter an’ me are lost as all hell. Ya see we’re outta towners an’ we’re heading to Gettysburg Park.”

“Sightseers, eh?” The legionnaire taking notes turns from the lowlies. He’s old and pudgy, so he’s likely a desk jockey stretching his legs. “Park’s closed by now but you folks keep heading west. Once you hit a town, they got signs all over the place for a lost bunch like you.”

“Good, good.” Annie takes out Conray’s lithograph. “By the way, ya gents seen this man around?”

The younger officer frowns. “You a bounty hunter?”

Annie gives a _Maybe yes, Maybe no._ “I work for the Grand Courser Casino. Anywho, this fellow comes in, runs up the tab, an’ skedaddles without paying. Boss wants me to have a chat with him ‘bout that.”

The legionnaires look at the lithograph. The lowlies look over as well, though they try to be more discreet.

“Conray?” mutters the younger officer, “Ain’t that Sheba’s man?”

“Quiet.” The older officer grunts. He inhales and gives the usual spiel, “We haven’t seen anyone like that. Plenty of former humans go through these parts.” He turns back to the lowlies. “Fix that taillight and be on your way.”

The lowlies nod but don’t move from the front of the RV. The legionnaires reenter their van and drive down the road, unwilling to harass lowlies with two more eyes on them. When the van is out of sight, the lowlies look at Annie. One is a snake fae with bright eyes and serpentine scales and the other a fisher cat fae with sharp teeth and claws.

“Who are ya to help we courtless peoples?” asks the snake fae.

“Annie Christmas of the Rivers.” Annie says, “Seems like ya folks were headed for a world of trouble.”

“’Twan’t needing the aid of outsiders.” says the fisher cat fae, “We were to handle ‘em like we always do.”

“Not without some trouble, though.” Annie says, “Ya folks seemed to recognize my picture. Yaseen Conray?”

The snake and fisher cat fae exchange a look. 

“We’re not to tell.” says the snake fae.

The RV door opens and a snake fae steps out, wearing clothes stitched and knotted from human attire. She’s middle-aged but the rough life of a lowly has taken its toll on her body;her face is marred by severe scarring Annie knows is from measles and her left arm is tightly wrapped to her body to keep it out of the way. 

“Annie Christmas?” rasps the older snake fae, “Did you say _Annie Christmas?_ ”

Annie nods. “The one an’ only.”

The snake woman’s good eye widens. “Annie Christmas! As I live and breathe.” She coughs heavily, covering her mouth with part of her shawl. “Or live and wheeze. Hah!” She cackles into another coughing fit and retreats inside the RV. “Hester, get the ale! We’ve got company!”

Annie gestures to July and the girl leaves the Jeep, following her mother into the RV.

The RV is cluttered with the affectations of every lowly dwelling: charms and spells writ on every window, wall, and flooring with duct tape and permanent marker to ward away legionnaires, mages, and other court-related troubles. There are no tables or chairs, just a huge pile of cushions and blankets in the center of the vehicle where all the eating, talking, and drinking is done. All other space is relegated to storage of items to sell and trade.

The snake woman sits on the highest pile of cushions while she’s doted on by a teenage snake fae. The teen pours three large mason jars of moonshine and serves it without complaint. Annie and the snake woman drink heavily and are immediately refilled. July sips at hers for the sake of politeness but scowls at the taste.

“Hot damn!” Annie says, “Times may change but lowly moonshine is still _powerfully_ strong. I’m tasting apples in this.”

“We may live quick but our creations are better than anyone else.” the snake woman snickers.

The drinking continues with the snake woman introducing herself as Taccarra Scalefoot. Two more drinks in, the women get to the meat of the conversation.

“Sorry for the third degree, but we’ve been paranoid lately,” Taccarra says. “Roads aren’t what they used to be. When I was a girl, one could go three trips without catching sight of legionnaires.” Despite being three drinks in, the woman speaks clearly and far more pronounced than most of the lowlies Annie has encountered.

“Legionnaires giving ya guff?”

Taccarra shakes her head. “They always want to intimidate us a bit: show us that their dicks still work by putting the fear of the courts in us, but they’re on unofficial word not to bother us _too_ much.” She winks her good eye. “See, these nobles love their ‘healthy’ and ‘low fat’ meat and veggies. They’ll throw a right fit if they can’t adhere to some cockamamie diet of the week.”

Annie rolls her eyes. “Sounds like the folks who just had to have their sugar and tobacco on time no matter who got fucked up behind it.”

Taccarra nods. “The real danger is coming from these ghouls in bed sheets. They’ve been attacking caravans and anybody else who crosses their path. People say they’ve been grabbing lowlies and killing anybody who ain’t one of us. No idea what comes of them though.”

“Night doctors.”

“Is that they called?” Annie nods. “Helluva name.”

“Ya don’t know the half of it.” Annie mutters, “If they’re taking people alive, could they be working with slavers?”

“No. I know how they work.” Taccarra’s eyes are distant and glassy as if looking down the road and seeing a dim future. “This is different. We came across a trader’s camp they picked clean. They grab what lowlies they can and the sick and the old are chewed on good and in a hurry.”

“There was a graveyard in New Jersey that had the same thing.” Annie says, “The man we’re looking for is likely working with the necromancer behind these ghouls. The fellows that work with him have animal skins stapled to them. They’re unnaturally strong with conjure too. One of ‘em caught us in a loop, warping space around us like a blanket over a dog.” 

Taccarra frowns and the teen snake fae offers her a pipe. The snake woman puffs on it, filling the RV with the smell of tobacco.

“First a dragon, now necromancers.” Taccarra exhales a cloud of smoke and shakes her head, “I may be piss ignorant but all this smells badly. Especially next year being a tithing year. The hellish masters are not going to be pleased.”

“What does the tithe matter to you?” July asks, “You don’t participate.”

“Don’t mean one shouldn’t be cautious of hellish powers.” Taccarra sips again at the pipe, “What has the man you’re looking for done?”

“Conray’s stolen a cache of Seelie goods.” Annie passes the lithograph to Taccarra. “The gold bitch has me by the tits. She’s taken two of my own so I won’t play my hand against her. I have to seek this man alive an’ return the damned cache.”

Taccarra looks at the lithograph and grins. “Ah, Conray stuck his hands in the Seelie pot in more ways than one.”

“What do ya mean?”

Taccarra taps the photo with a dirty fingernail. “Why have a former human deliver Seelie money in the first place? That job goes to relatives of the gold bitch--cousins and grandchildren and everyone else. _Especially_ if the cache is important enough to warrant such an extreme reaction. I’d bet my last madstone that this Conray is part of that shiny, gold harem Sheba keeps.”

Annie hadn’t thought of that. She knew of Sheba’s eclectic harem in rumor but nothing definitive. There weren’t lithographs of its members and celebrity gossip rags would prefer to harass pop stars and actresses rather than raise the Seelie king’s ire.

Taccarra passes the lithograph back to Annie. “We saw your man.” she says, “He was camping in these woods, hunting and living like a wildman. He was pulling a casket wrapped in chains behind him. He would trade us with bushmeat and other trinkets he found, but we declined.”

“What for?”

Taccarra shakes her head. “Hunting’s no good in this land. The closer you get to Gettysburg, the more unpredictable the magic gets. Kill and eat something here and it may kill and eat you back. That’s what the forest lords say of this place when more of them walked this bitch of an earth.”

“I haven’t heard of the forest lords in some time.” Annie pauses, “Do ya know of Selvans?”

“Selvans…” Taccarra chuckles, “ _That’s_ a name I haven’t heard in a dragon’s age. You do mean the third son of the Selvans family, yes?”

Annie nods. “Is he well?”

Taccarra shakes her head. “Dead.”

Annie’s heart falls into the pit of her stomach. Selvans? Dead? It couldn’t be! Selvans was highbred nobility. His men could talk for hours about Selvan’s pedigree, being only three degrees from King Sheba via her great-grandchild. Torii would grumble with envy, being descended from Sheba’s first cousin.

“Ya joking!” Annie says, “Are ya sure yain’t thinking of his siblings?”

Taccarra shakes her head. “They’re dead too. Entire line went up in smoke. Smallpox and measles got them. Same as me, though I toughened it out.” She grins. “You know what they are: nobles are hothouse roses and lowlies are sidewalk dandelions. Although”—she idly scratches her measles-scarred skin—“Selvans _did_ return to his ancestral land but it was too late then. Nothing but a human junkyard. When the humans bulldozed what was left, he chose to die with it. I suppose it was beyond rescuing since Sheba still won’t touch it.”

Annie has never understood aristocrat fae and their connection to the land but it no longer matters. Another attachment she had to the past has evaporated.

“So goes it.” Annie sighs, “May he sleep under the earth.”

Taccarra nods. “May he sleep under the earth.”

 

* * *

 

 

The lowlies are more than willing to help them along their way. They hotwire the Jeep and give them two bottles of moonshine for the help. July has to drag her drunken mother to the Jeep and tosses her into the passenger’s seat while she climbs into the driver’s side.

“You should’ve picked a car with better seatbelts.” July grumbles, “I can't even fit one around you.”

“Hard to picky when ya stealing.” Annie mumbles.

July starts the engine and drives down the road. The lowlies watch them from the RV window as if expecting them to still turn them in.

“Who is Selvans? Is he one of our fathers?” July asks.

“No way!” Annie laughs, “We were good friends.” She blinks, “ _Were_ , good friends. We couldn’t be together then. I wasn’t fully fae yet an’ a child takes after the mother. If we were to have children, they’d be human. I wouldn’t put him through the pain of outliving us.”

“So _that’s_ the only reason you picked just Fink and father? They were former humans then?”

Annie smirks. “Didn’t hurt they were handsome too.”

July stares into the darkness of the road. The back roads are barely lit, though there isn’t much to see aside from trees and farmhouses. Annie estimates they’re still an hour from Gettysburg. She’s close to nodding off until July speaks.

“With the Seelie…it wasn’t just mortality I was after.” July says, “I wanted to get the Seelie library because maybe they knew where father went--”

“Stop it.”

“The Seelie have years of knowledge at their fingertips!” July insists, “We could use that to figure out what happened to father. There’s just no way father would _abandon_ us--”

“I said _stop!”_

The car seems to shake with Annie’s shout.

“Whether ya father is dead or alive don’t matter.” Annie says, “He sold his soul to Davey Jones an’ injured or dead, the sea-devil has taken him back. He ain’t our concern anymore.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

Annie has no answers that would satisfy her daughter. She has only heard of Davey Jones; heard the tales of the ancient underwater menace that lies at the bottom of the ocean. A creature so ancient fae won’t discuss him out of superstitious fear and pretend he only exists in the murk of older lore with Prunella and The Great Ak.  

July is silent again and Annie is thankful. The road is long, dark, and quiet with rain offering the only noise. They’ll likely be at Gettysburg in the early morning and can only hope they’re a step ahead of Conray. Annie looks at the lithograph one last time before her eyelids become too heavy.

A shape shimmers in the middle of the road. Annie snaps her eyes open, shouts to July but the car slams into an unseen wall. July jerks violently in her seat, held back by the seatbelt.

Annie flies forward, smashing through the glass and body launched down the road. She slams into the asphalt and rolls down the rough road. Her body leaves a trail of blood and glass, traveling twenty feet before the momentum eases.

Annie stares at the night sky, clouded so thickly even the moon is hidden. She tries to move but there’s glass in her legs and she’s certain her arm is broken. She turns her eyes to where she was thrown and even that shoots nerves of pain through her face. The Jeep has rammed into a cement Jersey barrier placed on the road and hidden with glamour.

Annie tries to call out to July. She can’t. Even for a freakishly strong woman, her head is ringing and everything hurts. Darkness encroaches on her vision, blurring everything in front of her. She hears footsteps but can’t move an inch. Annie claws at her last bit of consciousness before the darkness finally pulls her under.

 


	6. Gettysburg

Smoke tickles Annie’s nose, yanking her from pain-induced unconsciousness and into anxious awareness. Before opening her eyes, she moves her wrists and ankles. Her arms are folded behind her with her wrists wrapped in thick rope. Her ankles are in a similar condition. _Trussed like a calf,_ Annie grunts and opens her eyes. Her head is throbbing but her vision is no longer blurry. She’s lying on her side, resting on fallen leaves and dirt. Annie twists her left arm and nearly yelps from the searing pain. _Definitely broken,_ though she’s lucky to have just that after plowing through a windshield. She’s been stripped of her coat which means most of her weapons are gone. Grumbling, Annie looks around and tries to piece together what mess she’s gotten herself into.

Annie lies across from one of the ugliest forest shelters she’s ever seen, held together with garbage bags, duct tape, branches, and leaves. The area is encircled by thick trees and since Annie can’t hear cars or planes, they must be in the most isolated part of the woods. In the center of the camp is a five-foot pyre and before it is a tree with July tied to its branches. July is battered but she’s still breathing. Silver rope is wrapped around her wrists, making sure that she’ll be useless if she regains consciousness.

A man jabs at the pyre with an iron poker, nurturing the growing flame. His cloak is ragged and smeared with mud and twigs to properly blend in with the trees. His cloak is stained with old blood. Annie fidgets, trying to gauge how tight the bindings on her ankles are.

“Wouldn’t bother. That rope is made from the special hemp grown by the knooks. Not even Samson could break it.” The man says. He turns to look at Annie and the marks under his eyes are dark. Annie questions the last time he had a good night’s sleep.   

“William Conray?” Annie asks. The man doesn’t answer and returns to poking the pyre, “Conray, I was sent here by Sheba. I’m--”

“Annie Christmas,” Conray says.

Annie blinks. “Ya know me?”

“Every true son of the South would know you on sight alone,” Conray says.

“If ya a son of the South, then why are you enslaving ya own?” Annie asks. She had pinned Conray for being a Union man who was raising Confederates.

The man feeds more wood to the pyre.

“Ya must know this necromancer’s turned them to night doctors.” Annie says, “Why ya zombifying all ya pals? I thought y’all were ‘bout that whole ‘the South shall rise again’ an’ that?”

“You know nothing.” Conray looks at his hand, staring at the lithograph. He quickly casts it into the fire and watches the paper curl, consumed by the flames. “The Confederacy had little vision for the future. Instead of embracing a new age, their councils were made of fearful, stupid men clinging to the comforts of the past. This time, it will be different. The bones of the Old South shall be transfigured into a compost, from which a new rich life can spring for the New South.”

Conray strides over to Annie. The man rattles with every step—the sound of metal brushing against metal.

“I’ve nothing against you, Christmas,” Conray says, “I only wish for a place where a man born south of Dixie could hold his head high and earn an honest wage instead of doomed to short misery and poverty. Even the riches promised to us soldiers were carried off by those we had thought trustworthy.”

Annie’s eyes linger to the shadow on the other side of the large pyre. The dull chains seem to glow in the firelight, tightly wrapped around the pine structure. A chain stretches from Conray to the coffin, preventing one from not drifting too far without the other. 

“If you worry so much about your people, then why’d ya join the Seelie?” Annie asks, “They don’t give two licks ‘bout how humans.”

Conray stares at her with his clear blue eyes.

“I had little alternative.” he says, “I was there at Gettysburg when the battle was lost. I fled into the wildlands rather than die from dysentery in a Union prison. It was only by chance I came upon fae lands and a Seelie hunting party. I knew not what to do with myself, for my brain was addled by the battle and the sounds of death still rang loud in my ears. When I stumbled out of the land, time had flown like a raven and I had been marked as deserter. Certainly, you have experienced the same in these bedeviled lands.”

“Sometimes...” Annie wriggles her toes. Her dagger is still in her boot but she’ll have to shake it out. She was lucky Conray was too much of a Southern gentleman to strip her, or maybe he spent his time securing July. Now she just has to keep him talking. “Sometimes I miss the ways of humanity. Fae are a conflicting folk, not having a proper god or religion. Always having to bow an’ scrape ‘fore ‘em. The Founding Fathers fought against that kind of nonsense, y’know?”

Conray nods.

“We are both relics of a past that humanity has forgotten and the fae love us and scorn us in the same breath,” Conray speaks with the complacency of an actor rehearsing Shakespeare. He looks to July. “Your young companion reeks of conjuration. For her is a far dire fate if you decline me: Daddy Jack will skin her and bind her remains to one of his thralls while her bones join his vast armies. He is a necromancer unlike that I have yet to have witnessed in this age. Perhaps at all.”

Conray blinks, inhaling slowly as he observes July. Is there pity in his expression? Or resolution at what will happen to July? Annie doesn’t concern herself with the fate of her daughter because that would send her into a distracted panic. She starts wriggling her foot, trying to slide the dagger out as discreetly as possible.

“The Seelie are ancient, Annie.” Conray continues, “It is only fate that they should fall as did Rome and Britain. Do not think returning this cache guarantees your freedom from the Seelie yoke.”

Conray pulls back his ragged cloak. The coffin chain is wrapped around his right wrist, keeping him from dropping off the cache and running off. Hanging around his neck is a silver chain with a triangular stone with a hole in its center. Magic radiates off it, hiding Conray and the cache from the court mages.

“Bow to them once and you shall always be their slave.” He murmurs.

“An’ what ‘bout the black people?” Annie can feel the dagger getting ready to fall out. “Hate to break it to ya, but things ain’t gonna be like they were before.”

Conray blinks and scratches his beard. “Right. Of course. It certainly won’t be like before.” He fumbles like a politician faced with an intelligent question. “Of course, we’ll maintain a respectful separation. Perhaps you people can return to your dark continent like so many of your kind have desired.”

Annie rolls her eyes. _Once a Confederate,_ always _a Confederate._ “Sorry, but I like the food in this country better.”

Conray shakes his head. “A shame then.”

Conray walks to his measly shelter and exits with a sackcloth. Out of the sackcloth comes a corked beer bottle full of golden oil. Conray uncorks the bottles and splashes the oil onto the pyre. The smell of myrrh and cinnamon fills the air and Annie wrinkles her nose. She’d recognize the stink of Oil of Abramelin anywhere, used for long-form communication before fae had telephones. 

“I call upon your wisdom, Daddy Jack,” Conray chants, “for I have an offering to make.”

The pyre roars and leaps up, turning from dull orange to vivid saffron. With Conray’s back turned, Annie lifts her leg and the dagger falls out, hitting the ground. She wriggles over to the dagger, fighting the pain in her broken arm and aching body as she attempts to grasp the dagger.

Brer Fox appears next to the pyre.

“What is _now_ , Conray? I’m a busy man.” The fox fae demands. Annie goes still when the man looks in her direction, still pretending to be useless. “Is that--”

“Yes.” Conray says and (thankfully) doesn’t look in Annie’s direction. “I’ve taken care of the Seelie meddlers. Now let me speak with your master.”

“Daddy Jack ain’t no yipping dog to come when yah call it, Conray!” Brer Fox hisses, “Bad ‘nuff yah had mercs on yah tail. _Sloppy_ is what yah is.”

“ _Enough_!” Conray shouts, “Enough of your tomfoolery! I’ve journeyed far too long and perilously to have my discussion with a trifling middle man! I’ll tolerate this treatment no longer. If your master wishes for my aid, I will speak with him. _Now_.”

“Who is yah to make demands?” Brer Fox teleports behind Conray and wraps his arm around Conray’s throat. Conray reaches for his sword but Brer Fox presses a dagger to the man’s neck. “Yah own foolishness made me lose one of me own! I oughta put yah in the ground same as those dead fucks yah love so much!”

“I will _not_ be denied--” Conray snarls.

 **“Enough!”** the golden fire roars. The pyre’s flames show a monstrous face with eyes too large and a twisted mouth that can’t belong to a proper man. **“Let him speak!”**

Brer Fox whimpers and moves from Conray without a fuss. Conray massages his throat while Brer Fox drops to his knees, laying himself out in a prostrated display Annie hasn’t seen outside of Madam Ching’s brothels. She watches the scene as her fingers fumble with the dagger. She lays the blade against the ropes but Conray wasn’t joking about the thickness. It's going to be a while before she’s free.

“F-forgive me, Massa!” Brer Fox pleads, “Iss jus’ after all this time, yah say yah doan want no pissants speaking to yah. I only aim tah please yah--”

 **“Silence!”** snarls the fire, **“If I want your simpering, Brer Fox, I will ask for it. Now rise.”**

Brer Fox nods and rises from the ground. 

 **“Conray!”** commands the fire, **“Step forward!”**  

The air has become unnaturally cold as if the gold fire has sucked all the heat out of the autumn night. Conray steps forward, breathing out frigid puffs. His bravado has vanished, humbled before the pyre.

**“Tell me your cause, Conray.”**

“I-I have heard many things of you, my Lord.” Conray stammers, “I have heard your name whispered in the shadows, being called Daddy Jack and Mister Man and Master…I have heard you are a man who will listen to those the Courts have cast aside. I know the way of the Courts and I know like any moral man that they should not be. That is why I have done as you have requested, stepping onto the grounds you are forbidden to walk and I shall prove my good faith.” 

Conray pulls his chain and the coffin slides over to him, gliding on the air. Annie feels one strand of rope give away from the dagger’s friction and tugs at the loosened material. Its difficult with a broken arm but the pain is worth her freedom.

Conray whispers a word to his chained wrist. The chain slackens and falls from his arm, coiling onto the grass. The man kneels down and easily pops open the coffin lid. Annie is too busy shucking the ropes off her wrists to get a good look at the contents but Brer Fox gasps.

“Is that…?” Brer Fox mutters.

“I give you three offerings, Daddy Jack.” Conray says, “Firstly, gold and silver from the Seelie treasury intended to line the corrupt pocket of the gold bitch’s allies.” He points to July. “Secondly, a young conjurer for you to induct into your army. Thirdly, this…”

Conray reaches within his sackcloth and pulls out a paper bag, reeking a sulfuric odor and stained with blood. Conray pulls out the bag’s content: a bloodied mask of rabbit fur. Errant staples hang from it and it looks like an animal chewed it and then quickly gave up trying to make a meal of it.

“That…that’s Brer Rabbit’s!” Brer Fox scowls, “How did _yah_ get it?”

 **“Yes, Conray. Do tell.”** the pyre murmurs, intrigued.

“My Lord, for some time I was lost in this world.” Conray says, “I had taken to nightly journeys, seeking to find meaning in this hollow civilization. One night, I prayed to God for a sign: for something that would fill me with purpose. Then, from my automobile, I saw the sky alit with fire and I heard the howl of a beast. I drove there, but the beast was gone. What remained was the grand destruction it left in its wake in that forgotten wasteland. Amongst the confusion of the legionnaires and the humans, I came across a mask and felt the magic flow from it. It called to me and I knew that I would be given purpose. I am not the only man who feels it: the new millennium approaches and with it shall come a new age. Please, let me be a part of that quickly approaching, new era.”

The rope fiber falls apart, freeing Annie’s wrists. She grabs the dagger with her good arm and starts sawing at the ropes binding her ankles.

 **“Your voice shakes with conviction, Conray. Truly, you believe your words.”** the pyre rumbles, **“I accept your offerings. However, I no longer require your services.”**

Conray looks up, mouth slack. Brer Fox teleports next to the man and jabs his elbow into the man’s throat. Conray topples and Brer Fox seizes the mask before teleporting to the coffin. The fox fae stands on top of it, looking down at Conray.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Conray wheezes.

A low hiss comes from the shadows. Annie freezes—still sawing through the ropes—as night doctors lurch into the firelight. There are only five of them and they’re battered and limping from Annie’s highway assault.

 **“You are a coward and a traitor. Conray.”** the pyre continues, **“Reserving a place for you in my glorious new world would make me no better than the gold bitch.”**

Brer Fox teleports next to the pyre as the night doctors rush to the coffin. Conray quavers as the undead creatures surround the coffin, running their claw on the pine box. Annie is shaking as well but focuses on the ankle ropes. The dagger snaps through another strand and she kicks her legs free.

 **“You shall die here,”** declares the pyre, **“and join the ranks of your fallen brethren. Out of your bones, we shall build our courtless, casteless utopia.”**

The night doctors lift the coffin and toss it into the pyre. The fire swallows it and then bursts, leaving only a plume of white smoke.

“No!” Conray runs to the extinguished pyre but Brer Fox teleports in front of him. The fox fae has a dagger aimed at Conray’s chest but Conray is faster with his saber. He blocks the dagger and knocks the fae away. “I have come too far for my freedom! I shall not die a dog’s death!”

“Pretty sure yah pals feel the same way!” Brer Fox cackles.

While a blade fight between the two men is intriguing, Annie has no interest in watching. One of them is a racist (albeit one of his time period but _still)_ and the other is a teleporting psychopath. They can stab each other and drown in their blood for all she cares. Her attention is on the night doctors, who have begun to circle July. July occasionally twitches but is still unconscious. One of the ghouls stretches out a claw toward her baby girl and Annie decides that’s close enough.

 _“Hands off my baby, ugly!”_ Annie yells.

The night doctor swivels its masked head as Annie charges. One punch from her good arm and her fist goes through its rotting head with a sickening _crunch._

“July! Wake the fuck up already!” Annie yells.

July’s eyes snap open. The girl looks around the rough encampment, taking in the sight of the large smoking pyre, two men battling with swords, and Annie punching undead Confederates. Her expression goes from fear to confusion before settling on annoyance.

“See, this _exact_ kind of nonsense is why I don’t leave my boat,” July says.

“I could use some help!” Annie yanks an arm from a night doctor and smacks the ghoul with it. With having only one good arm and no weapons, she has to get creative. 

July sighs and wriggles her fingers, tugging at her wrist cuff. A switchblade slides out and she carefully moves it with her fingertips. Using careful precision, she starts sawing through the silver thread. “It’s gonna be a minute…” she mutters.

July is still stuck up self but Annie is relieved she hasn’t forgotten the pirate skills she taught all her children.

There are only three night doctors left willing to fight Annie. One runs toward Annie, swinging a rusting sword. Annie moves to whack it with the ghoul's arm she’s commandeered…and misses. The night doctor stumbles forward, equally confused about their sudden displacement.

The night doctors rush toward Annie but the ground shifts again. The camp feels more spacious. The tree July is tied to had only been five feet from Annie. Now it's ten.

“Oh no.” Annie looks at Brer Fox, “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

Brer Fox teleports from Conray to the top of the smoking pyre. Sweat runs down his face and he’s trembling from excitement and exhaustion.

“I ain’t letting none of y’all get away!” Brer Fox laughs, “Yah ain’t messin’ wit no small-time conjurer now! My conjure--Ezekiel Saw the Wheel--is the strongest of ‘em all! Ain’t _nobody_ wantin’to tussle with me when I can fuck up everythin’ an’ anythin’!”

Conray runs to the pyre but the ground stretches. What is once four feet becomes eight, all the while Brer Fox looks at the man and continues laughing.

“Fight me like a man!” yells Conray.

Brer Fox looks at July. The girl has cut one hand loose and is working on the other. The fox fae lifts his hand and the tree shoots into the air, rocketing to fifteen feet. The surrounding trees and pyre do the same, escalating high enough to match it.

“Oh, _come on_!” July yells from her newly acquired height.

The look on Conray’s face would make a deer staring down headlights consider their situation no longer dire. All he has are battle wits and an old saber. Annie has even fewer options: a broken arm, a bruised ego, a daughter in peril, and a murderous conjurer. She casts her eyes around the campsite for a weapon, but little remains in the absence of Daddy Jack…aside from the iron poker and the coffin’s chain lying in the grass.

Annie swipes both tools before running to Conray. “Listen, I fought this bastard before.” she speaks quickly, looping the chain around the poker’s curled end. “His reach ain’t long an’ he’s pulling himself hard. We work together, we can get beat him.”

Conray grimaces. “What do you have in mind to fight such devilry?”

“Where’s my sword and gun?” Annie asks.

Conray looks to his ramshackle shelter. “Those rusting things? They won’t even fire.”

“That’s ‘cause it weren’t meant for ya!” Annie says.

She runs toward the shelter but—as she predicted—the ground extends. The shelter moves fifteen feet away. The air behind Annie moves as Brer Fox teleports behind you but Annie’s prepared for it. She spins around, facing the fae and rushing her fist toward his face. She almost strikes him but Brer Fox teleports two feet back. 

“Don’t be thinkin’ yah can get me so easily!” Brer Fox pants. His shirt is soaked with sweat and he’s shaking, running on manic rage and adrenaline. “It ain’t like before! I’m comin' at yah now, girlie!”

Conray dives on Brer Fox with his saber. It’s a last-ditch effort—the attack of a man who knows he’s outclassed by this conjurer. Brer Fox doesn’t even teleport for it. He grabs Conray’s face and pulls him close, sinking his dagger into the man’s belly. Conray gasps, eyes clenched in pain.

“An’ _yah_ shoulda done died years ago, yah cracka bastard.”Brer Fox snickers.

 _Thunk._ Annie’s iron poker sinks into Brer Fox’s shoulder. The fox fae screams and drops Conray. He tries to teleport but the chain looped around the poker goes taught. Brer Fox shrieks but can’t pull away. The teleport fails and he hits the ground, bleeding and held in place. 

“I’m a girlie as much as you is a real fox!” Before the fae can run, Annie slams the fist holding the chain into Brer Fox’s face. The force sends the fae flying two feet. His body skitters across the ground, remaining limp.

The campsite warps, making Annie unsteady on her feet as everything shrinks. The pyre and trees return to their normal height and the camp becomes small once more. Brer Fox is wheezing on the ground, too tired to even claw at the poker jammed in him. He could still be dangerous so Annie keeps a tight grip on the chain. She slowly approaches Brer Fox. 

“It’s over.” Annie declares.

Annie expects another howl of pain or curses from the fae. Instead, she hears a low cackle. Brer Fox looks up at her with a bleeding, broken nose and speared by an iron poker…but he wears a wide grin.

“Yah think I done for, huh?” Brer Fox laughs, “Yah don’t know how powerful Daddy Jack’s made us! Yah got no idea! _No idea at all!”_

Brer Fox pulls again. His conjure rips at space, violently tugging at everything around him to pierce a sizeable hole for a strong teleportation spell. Annie screams _“No!”_ as the chain is tightly pulled. It doesn’t yield, doesn’t snap. Annie lets go but it’s far too late. All Annie can do is watch as Brer Fox’s body stretches from the pull of teleportation and collapse on itself. The tearing line starts at his midriff and then bursts into a cascade of red and purple gore. Brer Fox’s eyes widen as his top and bottom half separate, splitting apart before the upper half disappears into the teleportation spell.

A bleeding midsection and legs land on the grass with torn viscera bleeding into the grass. The upper half is nowhere to be seen and Annie considers that to be a small mercy.

“C-crazy as a fox.” Conray coughs.

Annie nearly jumps when she hears the voice. She had taken the man for dead but July is crouched next to him. Her hands are pressed against the dagger still wedged in his stomach, staunching the bleeding with Conray’s coat. The coat is so encrusted with mud and twigs that its impossible to tell how much Conray is bleeding.

“Hold on.” July says, “We’ll patch you up--”

“No. No.” Conray shakes his head. He grabs the necklace and holds up the stone. His fingers shake as shock settles into his body. “T-take it. Hide. Don’t let—be free— _free_ \--!”

“Don’t give up just yet! _No_!” July attempts CPR but she’s not an expert on medical care any more than Annie is. Conray gives one final gasp and lies still. July stares at the body. Her fingers curl inward, forming tight fists.

“Fuck.” she gasps. “We’re _fucked_!”

Annie says nothing. What is there to say? Daddy Jack has the cache and left them with one and a half corpses for their trouble. Annie’s thoughts cloud over with the sound of December’s first poetry recital and the sight of October’s smile as she felt the sides of her new boat.

“They were never going to return them anyway,” Annie says. July stares at Conray’s body, sullen in her disillusion. Annie inhales, letting her shoulders sink. “Once the Seelie get their claws in ya, they ain’t likely to let go.”

“So…you knew we’d fail?” July asks, “We’re never going to see October or December again?”

“I didn’t say that.” Annie says, “Things…don’t always work out like ya want. One minute the waters are calm an’ everything is sunshine an’ in the next, there’s a huge wave drowning ya. Our role in life is to play to the tides, whether they be rivers or oceans.”

July stares at her hands. She blinks slowly and Annie doesn’t know if she’s taking in her words or thinking up her own strategies. Then July slowly rises. Her legs are shaking from Brer Fox’s spatial manipulations but she remains steady.

“Then let’s shift it.” July says, “If we’re going against the Seelie, let’s make it one last great time.” She looks at Conray’s body and the lower half of Brer Fox. “We can’t do it alone though.” 

Annie smiles. “One last grand adventure, then?”

July smiles. “Of course.”


	7. The Last Grand Venture

There’s something about the blues that makes it perfect for daydreaming. June is certain there’s a science behind it—something that could be ascertained through the analysis of meters, lyrical patterns, and guitar chords that would supply him with all the answers concerning the perfection of the blues. June wouldn’t listen (obviously) because not everything needs to be taken apart and dissected for him to indulge in it. That’s more of February’s thing.

No, June has no interest in scrutinizing one of his many loves. He lies on his bed and listens to the record play in the darkness of his cabin. The only light comes from his lit cigar, filling the air with the sweet smell of smoke. Pressed against him is the warmth of Darcassan, a mole fae. June runs a finger down Darcassan’s gray-brown arm and the man smiles, still pretending to be napping. 

The door slams open, letting in the light and noise of the rest of the boat. September runs in, wearing his sloppy excuse for modern fashion—a stained sleeveless T-shirt and ripped glow-in-the-dark jeans. His neck is a mess of plastic rainbow-hued necklaces.

“June, _holy fuck_!” September yells.

“Shut the damn door!” June growls.

September does so, nearly tripping over his own feet. June questions if his half-brother has always been this excitable or if his recreational interest in reefer has exacerbated it.

“This better be important,” June says.

“Yeah, yeah, you like your funeral music.” September waves to the phonograph, as if apologizing to the object. “But Mom’s back! She’s on a boat and everything! And July too!”

That…was something June hadn’t expected to hear. He hops off the bed, putting on his shoes and jacket before hurrying outside the cabin. Darcassan has been in his room enough times to know when to let himself out.

The _Jazz_ is never far from the _Grand Courser._ The deck of the smaller ship is already crowded with sailors watching a dinghy being hoisted into the air. Annie and July sit in it, looking exhausted from their misadventure. Annie has her arm in a sling and is resting against the huge bundle piled in the dinghy between July and her (which is cause for concern but June will deal with that bridge when he comes to it).

June doesn’t have to give a command. His sailors have already prepared a boat for September and him to return to the _Grand Courser_. June arrives on the deck of the larger ship just in time to deal with yet another crowd of people to shove away before getting to his mother. Front and center are the concubines, who have been loafing and moping around the ship in the absence of their “owner”. Tears run down Golly’s face as she clings to Annie’s arm while Kaylee holds onto Annie’s waist. Sammy stands awkwardly, clenching and unclenching his hands.

June has made it a personal vow to avoid all physical contact with the concubines. There’s just something… _unsettling_ about his mother purchasing live-in lovers like you would packages of meat. At least the prostitutes in the _Grand Courser’s_ employ made the decision to be people of the night. June doubts Madame Ching gave the questionable trio much of an option.

“Mother!” June says, “Did you…?”

“Later, boy!” Annie laughs, “I’ve longed for some quality food on my ship!”

The crew cheers but its less about the return of Annie Christmas and more of an excuse to drink and slack off. June doubts most of these employees are familiar with Annie outside of her being the ship’s owner. June doesn’t watch the face of the workers but his mother’s. Her smile is wide and welcoming but June watches how her eyes dart from left to right, watching the crowd. What could she be looking for?

 _This is just another game,_ June realizes. It’s an old one but he’s so used to playing it that the rules never need explaining. “Of course, mother!” he adds, “I’m sure August is more than willing to whip up something special for the captain.”

“I’ll take it in my cabin,” Annie says and goes on about her trip. She speaks of beautiful women, local breweries, and bar brawls as the crowd hang on every boastful word. July moves to escort the packages elsewhere, disappearing without a word.

Annie’s boasting and tales continue until it’s just June and her in the captain’s cabin. The door shuts, muffling the noise of the curious audience. Even the whores have been shooed away, with Annie insisting she’ll give them all the attention they crave later that night. 

“It seems you had an eventful trip,” June says.

“Ah, it was alright. Got some really good cider out of it.” Annie reaches in her desk and pulls out of a sheaf of paper and a pen. As she speaks, she writes on it and holds up the note to June: _We’re fucked._

June blinks. “How strong is it?”

Annie promptly scribbles and holds up the paper: _We’re fucked. _

“Very strong.” Annie offers.

June inhales. Not only does his mother suspect the Seelie are still spying on them (which would make sense, given that they’re not a trustworthy bunch) but the situation has deteriorated further. “I’ll have to give it a try. I’ve been meaning to do something stronger. What about you?”

“I liked it enough that it gave me an idea! How do y alike the sound of this, Junebug: our own brewery.” _I need a ship. Fastest we got. And guns. A lot of guns. _

June’s mouth goes dry. “You have to be kidding me.” He says with genuine apprehension leaking into his voice. He regains his mental footing and adds, “You can’t just up and decide something like that. You can’t, I mean, brewing is so labor intensive! And not only that but the heat and…its very temperamental. This isn’t the right time to… _do_ this.”

“Says who? It don’t have to be anything fancy. If any old Grandma can brew gin in a bathtub, then we can make our own mash easy as pie.” _July has a plan. I trust her. Do you trust me?_

The words hang in the air. June looks into his mother’s eyes and sees his own coal-dark pupils reflected back at him. He may share his father’s facial features but he is still her child.

“I…suppose.” June sighs, “It…couldn’t hurt.”

“Great!” Annie stands, taking out a candle from the desk. She lights it quickly and burns the paper. “Let’s get cracking.”

 

* * *

 

 

The plan is simple for the most part but with such grandiose flairs of showmanship that it could only have hatched from the mingled minds of someone obsessed with fiction and Annie Christmas. This time, they shroud the plan in complete secrecy, enlisting the help of only a select few: June, Annie, July, and May. May’s part in the plan is for construction (as her cultists are the fastest builders in the fleet) and advisory. June’s older sister may have surrendered her body to erratic conjuration but her mind is still sharp as a railroad spike. 

The plan is hatched on the day of meeting with the Seelie. On that morning, June stands with his mother, September, and April on the deck of the _Grand Courser._ The ship has moved from the rest of the fleet, breaching the waters of Martha’s Vineyard. In all his years, June had never thought the sight of the summer colony would cause his stomach to knot. As the Duchess promised, the _Truelove_ sits in the Vineyard Sound—unseen by humans and undisturbed by anyone who would trouble it. Fae ships have always been of hideous design to June, shaped like metal tubes or saucers. The _Truelove_ is no exception being a narrow design of black and gold metal more akin to a pleasure ship than for any military purpose.

Duchess Candace is lounging on a chair on the upper deck while Indrid Cold overlooks the bay. Seelie guards patrol the flybridge and the lower deck, keeping the nobles comfortable. June’s heart pounds as the two ships settle next to each other and the gangplank descends. He walks down it, following behind his mother with September and April behind. September takes the slowest, being the strongest and carrying the weight of the coffin.

“Annie Christmas! How wonderful that you’ve come to finally join us.” Duchess Candace remains seated and waited on by little green servants. Indrid Cold positions himself next to the Duchess, ready to intercede for any danger.

“Stow the polite talk, Duchess.” Annie snorts, “Yain’t not seeing one gold brick until I see my girls.”

“Ah, I suppose you should not be separated from your children for long.” A little green maid hands the Duchess a beeper and she presses a button.

June watches as December and October are shuffled onto the flybridge. From their demeanor, the girls seem untroubled and healthy and that’s the best June could have hoped for. They’re wearing Seelie clothes, having been their hostages for nearly a week but that’s of little concern. December looks down at the upper deck and grasps October’s shoulder, quivering in anticipation of their reunion.

“I’d love for them to join us, but I would hate to interrupt a tender familial reunion with business.” Duchess Candace says.

“Of course.” Annie looks to September. “Show it.”

September throws down the coffin and the chains binding it rattle against the pine. He unwinds the chains and lifts the lid. The sour stench of rotting flesh fills the air and the Duchess grimaces. Indrid steps forward, peering into the box.

“It appears to be the body of William Conray,” Indrid reports, “and half of…someone else.” He squats beside the coffin, moving Conray’s corpse without a care thanks to his gloves. “I see straw and the mess of a decaying body, but there’s no bullion.”

“What is the meaning of this?” the Duchess demands, “I told you to bring back Conray alive, _along_ with the cache!”

“You told me to bring back Conray alive if possible an’ the cache.” Annie says, “We ran all over the East Coast trying to get Conray an’ we were attacked by a conjurer. Fool teleported when I had grabbed him an’ that’s the result.” She nods to the half a corpse folded at Conray’s feet. “The coffin had been left behind. When we opened, this was what was inside. Seems like whoever Conray was dealing with double-crossed him. Guess it wasn’t a waste to have that cache in a coffin after all...”

The Duchess’ eyes widen but she maintains the perfect stillness of her face. Her fingers clench and unclench against the chair’s armrest. Then the noblewoman rises from her chair.

“Bring the girls.” the Duchess orders in her loudest, most controlled voice.

Seelie guards walk down the flybridge steps, standing in front of and behind December and October so neither can quickly escape. Once on the upper deck, they step away from the girls. December runs over to Annie, wrapping her arms around her mother. October follows, maintaining her composure while December happily sobs.

“This is not over.” the Duchess says, “Thanks to your bungling, the investigation regarding Conray’s bribery cannot continue. We are without information and Conray was our only lead…” She clenches her gloved fist tighter. Her pupils shrink as her mind reels through scenarios as to how she can repair this mess. “You must answer to King Sheba for this. _All of you_ must answer for this!” The Duchess’ voice cracks with the last word.

 _Because it's certainly not_ my _fault that Conray betrayed us,_ June hears in the woman’s voice.

“Figured you would say that,” Annie says, “but I got a better idea.”

“And what would _that_ be?” the Duchess demands.

The loud whine of a motor disrupts the quiet of the bay. The Duchess turns her head just as a small gunboat cuts through the water. It's only large enough to support two people and standing at its helm is Annie Christmas. The Seelie aristocrat’s eyes widen further as Annie hefts a megaphone with her good arm.

“Attention, ya Seelie dickbags! This is Captain Annie Christmas speaking!” Annie shouts into the megaphone, “An’ I’m here to deliver a very important message!”

Annie lowers the megaphone and climbs behind the gun attached to the end of the boat. June mutters “What is she doing?” before shouting “Get down!” and grabbing October. He throws himself to the ground as gunfire erupts from the boat. The _Truelove_ rocks in the water as bullets assault its side, denting the metal and striking every window and piece of furniture. The Duchess screams, thrown to the ground by Indrid while the other nobles have retreated or are cowering.

When the gunfire ends, Annie lifts her megaphone.

“Fuck all y’all! Fuck ya courts!” Annie says, “An’ most importantly, ya can fuck Sheba right in her ancient, dusty twat!”

 _“Fire on that ship!”_ Duchess Candace shrieks. Three guards run to the front of the ship to man the guns. The noblewoman rises to her feet as the remaining guards seize June and the Annie next to him. “What the hell is going on here?”

“I-I’m sorry!” Annie stammers. With tears in her eyes, she reaches up and yanks at her forehead. A post-it note saying **Annie Christmas** comes off. The glamour on her body shakes and falls off. Sitting in Annie’s place is July, wearing Annie’s clothes. “She made us do it…we had no choice…”

“P-please. I’m certain we can come to an understanding.” June puts on his most pathetic voice. Guns continue firing while Annie whoops, racing around the ship and striking the sides. “We are more than willing to pay a debt— _any debt_ —just as long as you don’t…” He swallows, bringing up tears. He looks at December, who is petrified with fright. “This is _her_ doing. Not ours.”

Duchess Candace doesn’t move her gaze from June. Her fist clenches and unclenches. Then she exhales, sliding the perfect mask of indifference back on.

“You will go before King Sheba and explain this…mess. Now get off my ship.” the Duchess looks at Indrid. “Blow that ship out of the water. Make sure there is _nothing_ left.”

 _“No!”_ December cries.

December pleads for her mother’s life but September holds her. June is glad they brought him along, being the strongest and able to forcibly drag sobbing and hysterical December off the ship. October is sullen and shocked, following her siblings without a word. The return to the _Grand Courser_ is erratic, with December howling like a banshee and demanding to be returned to the _Truelove_ so she can beg for Annie’s life. In June’s opinion, it works astoundingly well. If there’s one thing Seelie nobles hate, it’s loud, publicized emotional meltdowns.

The deck of the ship is crowded with people, questioning what’s going on. The guests want to know if they’ll be hit by errant gunfire and why Annie Christmas is attacking a Seelie ship. Others want to bet on who will win such a ridiculous fight.

On the deck, October grasps June by the shoulder. June goes still, knowing that his younger half-sister’s grip could easily shatter his arm.

“The hell is going on?” October asks, “Yah wouldn’t just leave Maw. Not like this.”

“Mom knows what she’s doing,” June says.

October’s face is still. She doesn’t have to look over her shoulder to see their mother racing away from the _Truelove,_ leading it from the Vineyard Sound and away from the _Grand Courser._ The mad chase will give them limited time as the gunboat has only show much fuel, but it’s enough for now.

“We’ll go ta open sea.” October mutters, “Hide out in Greenland o’ Norway wit their courts ‘til this blow over. Let ‘em chase us if they be wantin’. Fer now, we run.”

June nods and turns to the crowd. He has no idea what he will say to them. Most of their guests will be shocked, demanding that they be returned to an American port rather than face an extended trip into foreign waters. Those who have long since made the _Grand Courser_ their home will shrug and request what changes will be made to the menu.

The Christmas clan will move with the change of the waters, as all true pirates do.

 

* * *

 

 

Annie has no idea what she’s doing.

Scratch that: Annie knew what she was doing about thirty minutes ago when she first fired on the _Truelove_. After all these years, she finally got a chance to tell it like it is and burn that last Seelie bridge built on poison ivy and ragweed. If Golly was here, Annie would be planting kisses all over that girl’s thighs.

Shit. Golly. The girl’s going to freak out when she learns Annie isn’t coming back…but its better that way. Without Annie, the trio can make friends among the crew without the fear of running afoul of the captain. Maybe July can teach Sammy proper English and December can always make friends with Kaylee. Kaylee _looks_ like a ghost so that would fit her whole ‘Queen of the Undead’ shtick.

A bullet clips Annie’s ear and she yelps. Blood trickles down her neck, staining her shirt. She looks over her shoulder and sees the _Truelove_ is fast approaching. The ugly, wannabe yacht is large but heavily armed to protect its travelers. Annie’s gunship has the advantage of being small and hard to hit by the ships’ bulky guns. The Seelie guards are remedying this by firing at Annie off the upper deck with their rifles.

Annie swerves the gunboat westward, curving around a ferry lazily striding through the impromptu battle. The Seelie are yelling at the tourists while Annie grabs Bang-All from its resting spot next to her. Standing on the seat with a foot propped on the steering, Annie aims the gun at _Truelove’_ s gun ports. All it takes two shots and two of the guns are malfunctioning.

“What’s going on?” a Seelie guard demands.

“The guns are damaged, ma’am!” answers another.

Curses follow and Annie laughs before sitting back down. She moves the gunboat further west. To her left is the Great South Bay and in the distance is New York Harbor. Annie can’t remember the last time she was so close to the bustling metropolis.

And then…and then what?

Even if Annie makes it to the harbor, New York is rife with Seelie and Seelie sympathizers. The few Unseelie have drops of gold in their bloodline and would be more than willing to turn Annie over for a favor. She doesn’t know anyone in the city and her friends are long since dead.

The _Truelove_ is gaining on her. As New York Harbor fast approaches, the gunboat begins to slow down. Annie doesn’t have to look at the fuel gauge to know that the little ship won’t last much longer. Three more bullets strike the gunboat, first hitting the large gun on the sides and then the motor in the back. Black smoke funnels into the air but the gunboat continues puttering.

“Well, that ain’t good,” Annie mutters.

 _Pop! Pop!_ Flames shoot out from the gun boat’s rear motor. The motor clanks and rattles, leaking fuel into the water. For most, this would be the time to jump into the water. A smart pirate could swim for shore and disappear among the crowds.

Annie has never considered herself smart. She stands, facing the _Truelove_ and staring down the Seelie. She thinks of Mike Fink’s proud boasting and Stormalong’s handsome smile. With her two men on her mind, Annie raises her hand and then her middle finger.

She doesn’t hear the bullet that strikes her, nor does she hear the explosion of the engine. There’s just smoke and fire and then nothing.


	8. A Conversation with my Dear Cousin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I have surgery coming up so here's an upload of the remaining chapters so you won't be left in suspense while I'm in recovery. -- V.

Candace has always considered New York to be an ugly city. It has something to do with the stink of humanity clinging to everything and how the local Seelie have just accepted that. They squat in buildings, not bothering to remake it with magic and choose to inhabit it like mice would an old farmhouse. Personally, Candace is glad to look at the city rather than have to walk its hideous streets.

“Ma’am,” Indrid says.

The young Unseelie is ramrod straight, standing with hands folded behind his back. If it wasn’t for his maggot pale skin, he would be incredibly handsome. 

“We have been searching for hours and still found no trace of the body,” Indrid says.

Candace holds out her teacup for a servant to refill. The guards have taken to the water, keeping the local legionnaires at bay while they use skiffs and magic to search for Annie Christmas’s body. So far they have only uncovered the twisted metal and broken wood of the boat, but nothing organic.

“Perhaps we should cut our losses your grace?” her secretary, Talitha, asks. The woman sits next to Candace, drinking down another piña colada and pretending this entire affair is just another day at the office. “I’m sure King Sheba will be more interested in what has happened to Conray rather than--”

“I am the head of the financial office,” Candace insists, “and I will be the one to dictate what we do. We will dredge these waters until we find a sliver of Annie Christmas. I don’t care if it takes all night!” She punctuates this by slamming her fist on the armrest.

Talitha inhales and stiffly nods. “As you wish, your Grace.” she looks to Indrid. “Inform the legionnaires that we shall continue with our work.”

“My position is that of the Duchess’s bodyguard,” Indrid states, “not as a go-between for your political needs.”

“Did you not _hear_ the woman?” Candace growls, “Just do as you are commanded and worry about your Unseelie pride later.”

Indrid blinks slowly and then turns away, descending from the upper deck. A servant shuffles around him and approaches Candace with their head bowed.

“Excuse me, your Grace, but there is a phone call for you.” the servant says.

“I am preoccupied.” Candace answer.

“It…” the servant swallows, “…it is the _private_ line.”

Every muscle in Candace’s body goes taut. She stands and orders Talitha to make sure the dredging continues. Then she follows the servant inside the ship. The _Truelove’_ s halls are crowded with sailors repairing the damage and gossiping about the battle. Candace considers the existence of a battle an embarrassment. Whoever heard of a Seelie ship being assaulted by a ridiculous little boat manned by an equally ridiculous pirate? Once she returns to her office, Candace plans on auditing the engineering department about the _Truelove’s_ inadequacies.

Candace enters her private cabin and approaches her ringing phone. She picks up the receiver, pressing the polished metal to her face.

“I am sorry for the delay,” Candace says and curses herself for the unsteady tremor in her voice.

 _//“You certainly should be.”//_ The voice on the other line is smooth as silk wrapped around a knife, // _“I almost considered coming there myself instead of letting you handle this.”//_

“I am handling it!” Candace protests. She feels like a child again, pleading with her governess about swiping cookies before dinner. “I-I mean, I have handled it. Conray has been delivered, although he is…that is to say…”

 _//“You have failed me. Again.”//_ The speaker sucks their teeth. // _“Oh, how you heap your failures upon the shoulders of your line, Candace. It is a shame that the golden mane has been dulled so much.”//_

“It’s not my fault!” Candace insists, “Conray was already dead when I found him and the cache is gone. Whoever took it did so quickly. I don’t know who and I’m learning that now. I-I’m handling it. Just give me time--”

 _//“I have given you more time than you shall_ ever _deserve_ _.”//_ The voice becomes a hiss before returning to its smooth tones once more. // _“Conray had been in your employ when he deserted. I trusted you with correcting his newly acquired apathetic mindset with purpose. Instead, you have led one of my loyal men to his own destruction. Such failure shall not be forgotten. Your line shall correct this offense.”//_

“Please.” Candace whispers, “I’ll…I’ll give you anything in return. Anything you want. What…what if I give you Indrid? He can surely take Conray’s place! O-or Talitha! Or anyone. Anyone in my employ is yours, cousin.”

_//“What kind of fool do you take me for? Am I not the king of the Seelie? Am I not The Golden Hand of the Gods? All who are touched by the sun’s rays are in my employ. I will indulge you no longer. Come to Court upon the next full moon. We have much to discuss, for the next year is a tithing year. Oh…and be certain to bring your son as well.”//_

“Yes.” Candace swallows but the tears have already begun running. “I-I will do as you command, my King. It has been too long since we have spoken face to face.”

King Sheba hangs up and Candace falls to the floor. With her skirts pooled around her and alone in the cabin, she weeps aloud.


	9. In a House of Pines

Being at the bottom of a river isn’t so bad. Aside from the lack of oxygen and the mounting pain from that situation, it’s very pleasant. The bottom of the New York Harbor is comfortable with sludge and seaweed. Fish drift by without a care in the world, uninterested in the body that has joined them. Its not likely the first time a body has landed in the river. The difference here is that it doesn’t have cement shoes attached to it.

Annie isn’t sure who will come for when the last bit of oxygen gives out. Will it be Davey Jones? Mike Fink? Stormalong? Or will it be some nameless creature to drag her away? In her darkening vision, there is a light ahead piercing the grey-green darkness of the water.

A deer walks across the river bottom. It steps lightly, not even disturbing the rocks. Its body is composed of light, moving through its antlers and coursing like a live wire.

“You again…” Annie says, though her words come out as bubbles.

 _Is that any way to greet a friend?_ the voice pushes against Annie’s mind, floating there like the debris in the water.

Annie wants to speak but can’t. Her heart is pounding harder and her vision is blurring. The voice sighs and then the water races, moving away from Annie. Magic yanks her body, teleporting it from the muddy river bottom.

Annie hits a wooden floor. She coughs, spitting out water and inhaling oxygen. She rubs the water and river silt from her eyes and cranes her head, trying to grasp where she’s been brought.

‘Quaint’ is the best way to describe the place. It’s an apartment with leaf-patterned wallpaper and heavy furniture that looks as if it would take four men to move it. Plants hang from the ceiling or are positioned in every corner. Curtained windows barely block out the susurrus of street noise: taxi cabs honking, people cursing, boom boxes blasting rock music, and hot dog sellers making conversation with their regulars. The air smells of gasoline.

Of New York.

A woman walks into the room, leaning heavily on a cane tapped with a deer skull including antlers. Her skin is bronzed and her eyes bright green, wrapped in a green shawl.

“Oh, finally awake? Lovely!” the woman chuckles, “A few more seconds in that river and you would have been good as dead.”

“You…you’re the deer.” Annie says, “You’ve been following me.”

“Of a sort.” The old woman carefully settles into a huge armchair. She holds out a gnarled hand and a teacup floats from the kitchen followed by a kettle and spoons. Annie slowly stands while the woman makes the tea pour itself. “How do you like your tea?”

“I don’t drink tea,” Annie says, “and I _especially_ don’t drink tea from conjurers.”

“More’s the pity.” the old woman chuckles. She takes a long sip from her teacup. “Mm, lovely. Now, about me.” She smiles, stretching her wrinkles further. “My name is Greenleaf, you may call me Aunty Greenleaf and I brought you here to ask you if you wanted to join my group. Perhaps your husband mentioned it.”

“He didn’t.”

“Oh, that Stormalong.” Greenleaf rolls her eyes. “We’re called the Sentinels and we protect _every_ American, whether human or fae.”

“Well…”Annie mutters, “… _fuck_.”


	10. Folkloric Footnotes

**Annie Christmas:** Also called Keelboater Annie, this figure of African-American folklore is touted as the queen of the Mississippi River. Her origins are unknown. _Reader’s Digest American Folklore and Legend_ attribute her as a fakelore parody of Paul Bunyan, other sources suggest her stories may be older.

 ** _Purged of the heathen superstitions:_** Part of the reason why fairy folklore never took root in America was due to traditional fairy lore being rooted in the rural landscape of the homeland. [Check this out if you want to read more.](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskHistorians/comments/1w10f0/why_didnt_elves_survive_the_transatlantic_crossing/)

 **Merrimack** The Merrimack River. One of the many important rivers of New England, its host to sightings of witches of other demons. Apparently, you can’t throw a rock in New England without hitting a witch.

 **Sea hag** Also known as sea witches. Most water adjacent cultures have a sea witch equivalent, but the one that influences New England culture the most is likely European beliefs. Methods of warding or bargaining with sea hags were especially prevalent on the East Coast. For fae, the sea hags were an ancient race of sea-dwelling fae that maintained a testy alliance with the Courts. Eventually things turned sour and King Sheba had them all executed.

 **Merrimack** The Merrimack River. One of the many important rivers of New England, its host to sightings of witches of other demons. Apparently, you can’t throw a rock in New England without hitting a witch.

 **Marsh people** Also called swamp people, these subhumans are likely influenced from Slavic folklore. In recent times, we’ve learned there is some historicity to the description of people inhabiting swamps and marshes—the Maroon people, for example. Tales of marsh people are common to the South and New England. For fae, the marsh people were lifelong servants of the sea hags. With their masters dead, their culture has destabilized.

 **Rougarou** Also called roux-ga-roux, rugaroo, or rugaru. This Cajun beast is described as a man with the head of a wolf, although there’s discrepencies about whether a rougarou is a cursed human or a cursed animal. For fae, a rougarou is any animal shapeshift who becomes ‘stuck’ between humanoid and animal forms. This can happen for a number of reasons such as age or sickness. They can’t be ‘unstuck’ and the kindest thing to do is give them a painless death.

 ** _Xiexie, Golly_** “Thank you, Golly” in Mandarin Chinese. During her time in Hong Kong, Annie learned basic Mandarin but Golly, Kaylee, and Sam only speak Cantonese. It makes the language barrier all the more frustrating for Annie.

 **Why do they talk like that?** In the modern age, Chinese Pidgin English is strongly associated with racial stereotypes, especially ‘yellowface’ movies like _Fu Manchu_ and _Charlie Chan._ I wish I could say that ‘yellowface’ portrayals were a thing of the past like blackface and redface but it still happens, which is just… _ugh_. Anyway, I tried to be historically accurate when writing how Golly, Kaylee, and Sam would speak knowing limited English. I derived their pidgin from Ursula Bacon’s memoir _Shanghai Diary_ which features people speaking in a manner. The way these three speak is not to imply ignorance but that language is hard. I also felt it would be incorrect to pretend Chinese Pidgin English doesn’t exit, as the dialect has made contributions to American English—like “long time no see”, “look see”, “chop chop”, and “no fly zone”.

TLDR: Golly, Kaylee, and Sam are of normal intelligence and the way they speak is just a method on how people overcome language barriers. Sorry if I’m being too real here in a story about pirates punching zombie Confederates but I’ve always felt its better to move out the way when you see an anvil ready to drop.

 **New York and New England** Whether New York is a part of New England or not is a common source of confusion due to its close location to New England and its diverse culture. Just so you know, New York was settled by the Dutch first, so it is not part of it. 

 ** _Junebug_** A junebug is a common word in American culture but identifying the insect is harder than you would think. It could refer to the June beetle, the figeater beetle, or the European chafer. Annie has many nicknames for all of her children. June considers this to be the most annoying.

 **Qualupalik** From Inuit mythology, this sea-creature lives in the water and steals babies. For fae, the qualupalik are one of the many aquatic fae people that live in Alaska, Canada, and Greenland.

 **Madame Ching** Also known as Ching Shih, Cheng I Sao, or Widow Cheng. Ching was one of—if not _the_ —most powerful pirates of the 18th century and commanded more ships than any Western or male pirate of her era. For fae, Madame Ching is the uncontested pirate lord of the Chinese seas and is challenged by _no one_ —not even the Chinese Seelie and Unseelie.

 ** _Coney Island show_** Although fallen by the wayside in modern times, Coney Island was a big part of American history and culture. Annie is referring to the freak shows, [for which the amusement park was famous.](http://mentalfloss.com/article/18052/coney-island-freaks-yesterday-and-today%20)

 ** _The Great Gatsby_** If you went to school in America and took English, you’ve read _The Great Gatsby. Gatsby_ is considered to be a staple of American literature but in my opinion, the real life of the author and his wife were a better criticism on Jazz Age morality and decadence. I suggest _Flappers: Six Women of a Dangerous Generation_ by Judith Mackrell instead. 

**Tiger-men** Also called were-tigers or just werecats. Werecats are all over the world but tiger-men tend to pop up in China, India, Indonesia, and Malaysia. Each culture has a difference belief on their origins, from sorcery to animals pretending to be people. For fae, tiger-men are werecats from the Asian continent who either immigrate or are of Asian werecat ancestry. 

 **Oni** A demon from Japanese mythology, oni have a variety of skin colors but blue and red are the most common. American oni are often confused with rakshasa, whom they often intermarry with.

 **Dragon-turtle** From Chinese mythology, the dragon-turtle is a celestial animal that was often used for decorative purposes. Due to its commonality in Chinese designs, you’re likely to have seen one if you’re familiar with videogame culture (Bowser, for example). For American fae, dragon-turtle are rare sight as they rarely leave China.

 **Golden crows** Also called the sun crow.  From Asian mythology, this red three-legged crow is the center of many folktales although its commonly depicted in China, Korea, and Japan. For American fae, golden crows are also rare as they rarely leave China.

 **Jade rabbits** Also called moon rabbits. From Asian and Aztec mythology, these lunar rabbits are the focus of many folklore although if you’re familiar with videogame and/or anime culture (there’s a whole level about it in _Okami,_ for example). For fae, jade rabbits make up most of the Asian-American population and tend to intermarry into middle class and nobility.

 **Rakshasa** A folkloric demon from Hindu mythology. Like the oni, there are many different depictions of them. American rakshasa are often confused for oni, whom they tend to intermarry with.  

 **Century eggs** This Chinese dish is a duck egg preserved until the yolk turns back. There’s a lot of other details about making it but I can’t be assed because there’s a lot of varieties. For American fae, the delicacy is highly intimidating. For Chinese fae, it’s a dietary mandate along with human flesh. 

 **Human flesh?** Going off a bit here, but folkloric cannibalism is far more common in Asian mythology. Unless you’re a noble, American fae rarely eat human flesh and even then, they do so sparingly. For Asian fae, human flesh is a necessity although some can be weaned off it with pork and other substitutes.

 ** _Is Golly makee jig-jig for chin?_** “Do I have to fuck anybody for cash?”

 **Shishi** Also called shí shī, stone lions, Chinese guardian lions, Imperial guardian lions, or foo dogs. If you’ve been to an Asian temple or Chinatown, you’ve likely seen these stone guardians. For American fae, you’re more likely to find someone with shishi ancestry rather than a fullblooded one like Sam.

 **Nu gui** Literally ‘female ghost’, this Chinese vengeful ghost has long hair and wears a white dress. If you’ve seen _Ringu/The Ring_ or _Ju-on/The Grudge_ you know exactly I’m talking about. For American fae, nu gui rarely leave China.

 ** _Zau_** Cantonese. Alcohol of any kind.  

 ** _The Devil’s Locker_** Also known as Davey Jones’ Locker. It is unknown if this is just the bottom of the ocean, a really deep trench, or a specific location. For fae, it’s the darkest pit in the Atlantic that no one dares go near.

 **Nelson’s blood:** Also called _We’ll Roll the Old Chariot Along, Roll the Old Chariot,_ and _The Golden Chariot._ One of the more popular sea shanties originating in Africa.

 **What the hell is October saying?** Like lowlies, human-descended fae speak their own cant. If you’re having trouble figuring out October’s verbiage, it helps to say it out loud, like with “hoor” and “whore”.

 ** _The Courser_** From American folklore. The Courser was attributed to Old Stormalong (more on him later), though its up for debate if it was his main ship or just his favorite in the fleet.  

 **Sea serpents of New England** Sea serpents commonly appear in New England but they different from reptilian ones. Typically, they’re portrayed with whiskers or tusks like that of a walrus. For fae, sea serpents are a nuisance since they either think ships are hot dates or threats.

 ** _Baijiu_** A Chinese grain alcohol with a high alcoholic content. For Annie, baijiu is like drinking weak tea.

 **Martha’s Vineyard** This is a popular American summer colony. Some texts state Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket are the remains of a giant’s bones and lies close to the Devil’s Den. For fae, Martha’s Vineyard is a playground for Seelie nobles on vacation.

 **The Palatine** The _Palatine Light_ is a ghost ship that appears near Block Island, Rhode Island although the _Palatine Light_ doesn’t actually exist. The name of the actual shipwreck was the _Princess Augusta_.

 **1999:** American ufology was obsessed with 1999 and the end of the millennium. I remember when bookstores were packed full of doomsday prophecies and predictions about the year 2000. Don’t even get me started on the TV specials.

 **The madwoman:** The cause of the shipwreck of the _Palatine Light/Princess Augusta_ is debatable but there are a lot of folkloric accounts. One claims that illness swept the ship and a woman—Mary Van Der Line—went mad with grief after losing her family and refused to abandon the ship. As the _Palatine Light_ tale is a popular ghost story, there’s little evidence about Mary Van Der Line’s existence.  

 **Atlantis** For reasons unknown to me, Atlantis pops up a lot in American folklore and fiction. There was a real craze for it during the 1990s when you could always catch a TV special about someone looking for it.

 **Ghostlights** Also called will o’ wisp, jack o lantern, friar’s lantern, hinkypunk, and hobby lantern, these glowing balls are associated with every from fairies to lost souls. For fae, ghostlights are the magical equivalent of corpse flies and will feed on inhuman flesh before molting into bugs. Not pleasant to be around.

 **Ectoplasm** Most know about ectoplasm from pop culture, but few know the origins of this portrayal. The modern appearance of ectoplasm is owed to the craze of spirit photography that gripped the early 19th and 20th centuries. There were paranormal hoaxes aplenty in the early age of photography. All fraudulent, of course, but fascinating nonetheless. For fae, ectoplasm is the solid material that makes a ghost. Over time, it hardens and crumbles, causing the ghost to, well, “die” in a sense.

 **Davey Jones** Although Davey Jones’ Locker is often talked about, little is written concerning the actual owner. There are only two depictions of him: one as a fire-breathing demon in _The Adventures of Peregine Pickle_ and another as an undead pirate in the magazine _Punch._ For fae, Davey Jones is an ancient spirit who dwells in the ocean. With the sea hags gone, he now rules it in solitary silence.

 **Fiddler Green** If Davey Jones’ Locker is hell for sailors, then Fiddler’s Green is a paradise of wine, women, and song. For fae, Davey Jones (allegedly) promises a paradise for those who do well by him.

 **Colorless seas** Despite having a motley of religions and cults, fae tend to believe that the afterlife is just a large colorless ocean similar to an eternal limbo. There is nothing after life for them. It just…stops.

 **Long John Silver** More pirate lore! Long John Silver was the main antagonist in Robert Louis Stevenson’s _Treasure Island_. There’s debate if Silver was based off a real Welsh pirate, a friend of Stevenson’s, Stevenson’s idea of piracy, or a combination of all three. For fae, Long John Silver was a constant annoyance who attacked fae merchant ships. It is unknown if this was the real Long John Silver or just a former human who took up the name. Either way, he was a huge jerk.

 **Black Caesar** There were actually _two_ Black Caesars—an African one from the 17 th century and a Haitian one from the 19th century. The earlier Black Caesar is likely the most well-known as he served under Blackbeard and was hanged in Virginia for piracy.

 **Captain Kidd** Another 17th century pirate, there are plenty of tales of Captain Kidd’s exploits both real and fictional. The most famous being that of his treasure trove hidden all over the East Coast. Annie (who was obsessed with pirates as a child) loved to hear tales of Blackbeard, Black Caesar, and Captain Kidd.

 **Bacardi rum and vodka:** Don’t do this, kids. You’ll die. Annie is a professional drunken pirate. 

**Huli jing:** Also called jiuweihu. From Chinese folklore, these nine-tailed fox spirits can be good or evil. For fae, huli jing are rarely seen outside of Asia.

 **Cannibal ogre:** Annie probably means _oni_.

 **Charlotte the Harlot:** Erroneously attributed to Iron Maiden, this is an older American folk song dating back to the 1800s speaking on the famous prostitute Charlotte.

 **Babbage** As in Charles Babbage, a famous mathematician who invented the first mechanical computer.

 **Lovelace** As in Countess Ada Lovelace, another famous mathematician who helped invent Charles Babbage’s mechanical computer. She’s awesome.

 ** _Gu-ma._** Cantonese. “Aunt (father’s older sister)”

 **Ruby Slippers** Although red in The Wizard of Oz film, the slippers are actually silver shoes in the original _The Wonderful Wizard of Oz_ book. Silver, however, didn’t look good on the filmstock so it was changed. Annie’s ruby slippers are definitely larger than Dorothy’s.

 **Gardiners Island** Gardiner’s Island is a small island east of Long Island, New York and the center of a lot of folklore. Its believed Captain Kidd buried his treasure here.  

 ** _Carmilla_** A 19th century vampire novella that predates _Dracula,_ which features lesbian vampires. Obviously, July’s favorite book for a lot of reasons. 

**Indrid Cold** Also called the Grinning Man, this humanoid entity is associated with UFO sightings and the Mothman. For fae, Indrid Cold is just a regular Unseelie highbred noble with nothing unusual about him at all.

 ** _Fink_** As in Mike Fink, the King of Keelboaters. Mike Fink was a legendary brawler, drinker, practical joker, and boatman who did business on the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers. While Fink was based on a real person, a lot of his stories were exaggerated. There are also a few tales of Fink encountered (or avoiding) Annie Christmas. For fae, Fink was a former human mercenary who worked for the Unseelie. While he was Annie’s first true love, they never married and remained lifelong friends.

 **Puka shell necklace:** A source of a lot of fakelore during the 1990s, puka shell necklaces were said to be important to Hawaiian culture. It’s not. It’s just an ugly necklace.

 **Gator man** A less well-known New Jersey cryptid that is part man, part gator.  I also think he’s the coolest. Who doesn’t love gator man? I love gator man. I love him so much. Also, I’m writing this at 2AM. I can’t sleep. Send help. I just love gator man so damn much.

 **Overseer:** As in plantation overseer.

 **Quakers:** Also known as the Religious Society of Friends or just Society of Friends. They played a major role in the abolition movement against slavery in the United States and United Kingdom.  

 **Indians:** Annie means Native-American, obviously. She’s from a different time, folks.

 **Railroad:** As in the Underground Railroad.

 **Maine and the Underground Railroad:** Maine was the central hub of freedom for those in the Underground Railroad partly because of the easy route to Canada. For many former slaves, leaving the country was the best option rather than risk recapture.

 **Bang-All:** Also called Old Bang-All. This was Mike Fink’s famous rifle, although the size and kind is debated. The gaudiest depiction comes from _Reader’s Digest: American Folklore and Legend_ saying the “sides of the stock were etched figures of Indians in silver, of crescents, diamonds, dogs, deer, hearts, and, of course, the American Eagle”. What a fucking eyesore.

 **Cut-All:** A weapon is never attributed to Stormalong in folklore but its unrealistic for a sailor to go without one. Given Stormalong’s famous gigantism, a regular cutlass would be a toothpick to him, thus this ridiculous weapon Annie now wields.

 **Kentucky rifle:** Also called a long rifle, Pennsylvania rifle, or the American long rifle. This was one of the first commonly used rifles in hunting and warfare. Mike Fink’s gun is typically said to be a Kentucky rifle.  

 **Old Stormalong** Also known as Captain Alfred Bulltop Stormalong, this American folk hero was a giant who battled the kraken and had many misadventures. For fae, Stormalong was a famous pirate who pillaged both human and fae ships and was just a pain to deal with. He was Annie’s second and truest love.

 **Lizardman** Reptilians are a common feature in American folklore and ufology and a lizardman is really no different from that. For fae, reptilians make up most of the Seelie working class. [More on that here](http://bad-imagination.tumblr.com/post/169061987134/oh-shit-more-world-building-stuff-for-the-story)

 **Red-hot iron shoes** Snow White, anyone? Anyway, in the original version of Snow White, the dwarves forced the wicked mother (yes, mother, _not_ stepmother) to dance in red-hot iron shoes until she dies. May’s cult doesn’t like traitors so it’s likely that July’s accomplice would suffer a similar (if not worse) fate if they tried to go back.

 ** _Your Death_** A common motif in African and African-American folklore is the idea of death being unique to a person. Such an entity can’t be destroyed but can be hidden away in things like eggs, pots, vegetables, or boxes. Despite being raised Christian, Annie retains most of these spiritual viewpoints.

 **Fort Mott** Located in New Jersey, Fort Mott was an important location during the American Civil War. It is also the center for alleged ghost sightings and other spooky stuff. 

 **Knook** From L. Frank Baum’s _The Life and Times of Santa Claus._ Knooks are tree spirits that inhabit every forest on earth. For fae, knooks are an American-only race that came from the interbreeding of gnomes, dwarves, and elves and are the only remnant of those ancient peoples.

 **Battle of Gettysburg** Trying not to bog down this chapter with too much American history, but the Battle of Gettysburg was a turning point in the American Civil War where basically the South had lost and everybody knew it. There’s a lot more details but…eh. Google it yourself.

 **Uncle Remus, Daddy Jack, Brer Fox, Brer Bear:** From _Uncle Remus: His Songs and His Sayings._ These characters are featured in the collection of short stories among others about life on the plantation in the American South. The history behind it is more interesting than the actual book.

 **Moonshine:** European fae may have their wines but American fae love their moonshine more than life itself.

 **Prunella:** Also called Princess Prunella. She is featured in a short story in _The Other Side of the Sun_ by Evelyn Sharp. Despite being British, the story has a great impact on American literature, especially for female writers. For fae, Prunella is considered a folk legend among lowlies and former humans who aspire to have as much fame as she did. The real Prunella lived a far less glamourously but still amazing life.

 **The Great Ak:** Also called The Great Huntsman, the Master Woodsman, or Ak. Ak comes from L. Frank Baum’s _The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus_ and helped raise Santa Claus in the magical forest of Burzee. For fae, the Great Ak is a god of the forest and said to be the progenitor of American forest lords. He is one of the gods observed only by American fae.  

 ** _South of Dixie:_** The Mason-Dixon line, specifically.

 **Oil of Abramelin:** An actual hoodoo oil, used for consecrating items and other rituals. Like most hoodoo traditions, it borrows from Jewish lore. The exact ingredients are unknown but there’s a consistent mention of myrrh and cinnamon. For fae, Oil of Abramelin is used for long distance communication.

 ** _Ezekiel Saw the Wheel_** Also spelled as _Ezekial Saw the Wheel._ A Negro Spiritual and common American folksong, it recounts the prophet Ezekiel’s vision of the chariot from the Bible.

 ** _Play to the tides, whether they be rivers or oceans:_** Fun fact: tidal rivers are the only kind of rivers that have tides while other rivers do not. I learned that while looking this up. Annie is being poetic here. I doubt she knows/cares about that.

 **Riverboat brothels:** Riverboat brothels were actually a thing in American history.  I just thought that was neat.


End file.
